


The True King Vignettes

by ShipMaester



Series: The True King Universe [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 42,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipMaester/pseuds/ShipMaester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Alternate Universe story where Stannis Baratheon is victorious at the Battle of Blackwater Bay and other AU scenarios. This series of vignettes is primarily a vehicle to ship Stannis and Sansa Stark with acknowledgement of pre-ship between Sansa and Sandor Clegane. GRRM owns all - no profit motive (or possibility) here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. For Stannis & Sansa ship is exceedingly Alternate Universe and, unapologetically, gets many canon obstacles out of the way of the Ship.
> 
> 2\. I have made Sansa older (16) … I have no excuse other than it eases my conscience a little.
> 
> 3\. There are some things that look like they are becoming fanon for Stannis x Sansa shippers, which is another way of saying that anything that seems like an idea copied from another author I hope will be taken as flattery because I have to admit to being influenced by all the wonderful fics out there so far.

Sansa

Alone and frightened, Sansa Stark sat in her bedchamber waiting for an outcome. Would this night end with no change to her status as a prisoner of the Lannisters or would she become the prisoner of Stannis Baratheon? Or worse, would this be her last night with the morning finding her head on a spike? Given those three options, she was bewildered about why she had chosen not to go with The Hound. Fear of him had been a momentary fear; she knew The Hound would never hurt her – ever. She could have followed after him. While she had never grown used to his rough language or the violent things he said, he had made her feel safe when he was around. He couldn't stop the beatings Joffrey had the other members of the King's Guard inflict upon her, yet she somehow knew they would only go so far before he killed everyone in the room to save her. Despite that certain knowledge, here she sat … waiting for a fate that did not include him despite praying that he met no harm on his escape.

All around her, she could hear commotion. There was running, screaming, groans that accompanied injury and dying. It was close to early morning before anyone opened her door. The face of the man standing in the open doorway bore the lines of someone much outdoors, probably a seafaring man. Gray eyes set in a face haggard by extreme fatigue studied her as she stood, trying to appear unafraid. "Lady Sansa?"

"Yes," she replied, proud that her voice sounded a great deal stronger than she felt.

"I am Davos Seaworth, Hand of King Stannis," he said, bowing. She noticed his clothes appeared to be wet. He looked around the room. "Your sister is not with you?"

She felt her lip quiver at the mention of Arya. "I regret that I have not seen her since before the death of my father. The Lannisters do not know her whereabouts, of that I am certain."

Lord Davos was quiet for a few seconds, seemingly pondering information he hadn't anticipated. "I will post a guard at your door until it is safe to take you to the King."

"May I ask … " Sansa began, effectively stopping him from leaving. "May I ask whether King Stannis has won the battle this night?"

She noticed how tired he looked, "Yes, My Lady. You have nothing to fear. Those who held you prisoner will be held accountable for that and other crimes. King Stannis has reached an agreement with your brother, Lord Stark. Once all is secured, you will be brought to His Grace and he will explain all."

"Thank you, My Lord," Sansa replied, assuming the Hand of the King held the status of a lordship. She had no choice but to take his news at face value and hope she had made the right choice in staying.

Bowing again, Davos Seaworth took his leave, "My Lady." Once the door was closed, she heard orders issued to guard her door against any and all intruders until he returned.

Not risking changing her gown without the help of a handmaid, Sansa tidied her hair as best she could on her own and resigned herself to wait. Sleep that hadn't come during the night overcame her and it was late afternoon by the time she heard the knock on the door. Lord Seaworth had changed clothes, but he didn't look like he had had the luxury of sleep. "My Lady, if you will allow me, I will escort you to King Stannis."

All around her, as they made their walk to the throne room, there was a flurry of activity. Servants were carrying on as if it was business as usual, cleaning up the ravages after the battle seemingly of little difference than the daily routine. "Please forgive me, My Lady," Lord Davos remarked after they had walked in silence for several minutes. "I am usually more conversant."

"Please do not apologize," Sansa replied, sounding for the first time in months like the well-trained lady Septa Mordane had instructed in her courtesies. "Today is not a day for idle pleasantries and conversation."

He nodded gravely, sadness in his eyes as they continued to walk. "No indeed, My Lady," he replied, not unkindly, "It is not."

As they entered the Throne Room, Lord Davos announced her, "His Royal Highness, King Stannis, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Protector of the Realm. I present the Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell."

Since no one was sitting on the Iron Throne or wearing a crown, and as she had never met Stannis Baratheon, she had to wait for him to emerge from the group of six men who stood around a makeshift table set out with parchment maps. She barely got a good look at him, other than to acknowledge that he was a tall and muscularly built man before she curtsied and lowered her eyes to address him. "Your Grace."

"Lady Sansa," he says curtly. His voice reminded her of the firm, decisive tone her father used when he was occupied or in a hurry. Although it held a touch of harshness, it did not offend her. It was not the same tone she remembered from King Robert. Sansa once overheard her lady mother say that King Robert always sounded like a lecherous drunk, even when sober, and she had found that to be accurate. She raised her eyes to meet intense dark blue eyes focused on her. Stannis Baratheon is not a handsome man and neither was he a homely one; nonetheless, he was most decidedly an imposing man. Not in the way The Hound was, by sheer size and terrifying aspect. This was a man whose commanding way was written all over his tightly pulled features and scowl. She had once been told he had a beard and was bald. The man before her was clean shaven and admittedly, his hairline started about halfway atop his head with hair combed forward, but he was not bald in the sense she had imagined.

"I trust you are well?" he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Most men who had looked at her as long as he had at least once suffered a glance at her body and parted with at least one appreciative look … even the members of the Joffrey's Guard had done so on initial inspection before beating her on command. Not King Stannis. His gaze never left her face. "My Lady, please accept my sympathies at the loss of your father. Lord Stark was worthy of respect.

"Thank you, Your Grace." It was on her lips to note that they both had suffered great family loss in this war and to offer her sympathies in return, particularly at the loss of his wife. It would have been the courteous thing to say, but she could not bring herself to give more than the shortest answer proper decorum allowed. Sansa wasn't sure whether she feared Stannis Baratheon or whether she had developed a fear of all kings. King Aerys has gone mad and killed members of her family, King Robert had required her direwolf be killed for no reason, and Joffrey was pure evil.

If he felt her lacking in courtesy, he didn't show it. "My Hand has informed you that we have been in contact with your family. They will swear fealty to me if their terms are met regarding you. These terms included your sister for we all believed her to be here with you."

"I am aware, Your Grace." Lord Davos hadn't imparted quite that much information, but enough for her to agree. She was relieved she would not have to feign an estrangement from her family to survive the brief time she would be spending in the court of the new king for it sounded like her removal from King's Landing was imminent.

Stannis' next words did not surprise her, "I wanted to be the one to tell you that Joffrey and Queen Cersei will be executed at midday tomorrow." What followed next did, "Lord Tyrion's fate will be determined by you."

Sansa felt a chill at hearing of the upcoming executions; she wasn't certain if the chill was based on having witnessed the horror of her father's execution or at realizing she was actually pleased to hear they would soon not be among the living. That said, she found it odd and unsettling that she would somehow be responsible for the fate of Lord Tyrion, "By me? How so, Your Grace?"

King Stannis motioned for her to walk with him out of earshot from the rest of those still viewing maps on the table. Lord Davos followed, lingering behind slightly. "If you have been … left a maid," the embarrassment at his words, spoken in a low tone so as not to be heard by more than herself and Davos, was obvious and was followed by an awkward throat-clearing sound, "and if you support claims we have heard that Lord Tyrion did his best to spare you as much of Joffrey's villainy as possible, he will be offered a pardon as long as he swears fealty to me and meets certain conditions."

Sansa was glad of this. It wasn't that she had any great affection for Tyrion Lannister; however, it was true he had made every effort possible to spare her the worst. He had also tried to mitigate the damage Joffrey and Cersei were doing to the kingdom. It was good that he was to be spared as long as he did not incite any further rebellion. She couldn't imagine him seeking revenge for his sister and nephew. There was his father, however. Nothing was said about the fate of Lord Tywin Lannister and she had no wish to ask.

"I am yet a maid, Your Grace." She thought she saw something change in King Stannis' eyes. It was so quickly masked, it was difficult to convince herself she had truly seen any difference in the scowl he wore.

"I am glad this is the news I will be able to send your lady mother and Lord Stark. You will still be examined by a Septa to see the extent of any injuries that have been done and that you have the proper care necessary before word is sent," He looked away from her, but came back to focus on her eyes soon enough. "And the other matter? Lord Tyrion's overall conduct towards you?"

Sansa swallowed hard. She had had the fate of another person in her hands before. First, the butcher's son, Mycah. Only at the time, she hadn't realized her lie supporting Joffrey would lead to the boy's death. The second time, it was her father's. She had been manipulated by a hunger for power she hadn't thought possible and at the greatest cost imaginable. Now, she knew full well what the stakes were and had to find the courage to speak. "Your Grace, Lord Tyrion has been, at all times, kind to me. He made every effort possible, in his position, to spare me from his nephew's beatings." Then, another man's scarred face came to mind. "As did The Hound, Your Grace. He has left the city. If he is found, I would ask that it be remembered that he never beat me as the rest of the King's Guard did. He saved my life more than once."

King Stannis' eyes narrowed at this news and his scowl deepened, "The Hound? Clegane?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

The King turned his attention to his Hand, Lord Davos. "Is he among those imprisoned or dead?"

"No, Sire. I would have been told if he were discovered, alive or otherwise."

Sansa was relieved. She was also anxious about young Prince Tommen's fate and wished she could petition for the young boy as well, but knew she had probably taxed whatever goodwill she had with the request for consideration for The Hound if he were found. Somehow, she didn't see Stannis Baratheon as the killer of children unless there was no other option. In the short time she stood before him, he began to remind her of her father. This king was not charming and he probably wasn't a pleasant man either. Looking at him, she could believe what she had heard about him being an honorable one … one who was a slave to his sense of duty.

She wanted to ask about when she would be taken to join her mother and brother; somehow she knew this was not the time for that question. Or rather, she knew King Stannis or the Hand would tell her when they were ready. If nothing else, she had learned the necessity of patience during her time at King's Landing.


	2. The Arrangement

Stannis

Three days passed before they learned that Lord Stark had been victorious against Tywin Lannister and that Lord Lannister was well and truly dead. News of this victory was dimmed by the bodies of Davos' four oldest sons having washed up on shore near King's Landing, recovered with at least eighty other brave men and boys. While he didn't show it, indeed, didn't know how to show it, Stannis grieved with his Hand. Davos Seaworth was more like a brother to him than the two with which he had shared parentage.

Men were sent to retrieve Princess Shireen, Lady Seaworth, and Davos' two younger sons from Dragonstone and Cape Wrath, and bring them to King's Landing. He wanted Shireen here to hear the news of his betrothal from him before it was learned by the rest of the realm. As part of the treaty for fealty, the Starks had made the condition that he wed Lady Sansa. Queen Selyse had been dead for five moon cycles and he could not escape the fact that, lacking a male heir, he had to marry again. They had agreed to the terms if she were still a maid. If she were not, the Starks had agreed that a child of any new queen would be wed to a child of Lord Stark at some future date.

Stannis hadn't expected the Stark girl to still be a maid when he agreed to the terms, although after Davos and he considered other options for his queen, he begrudgingly hoped, by some miracle, she was. The examination by a Septa had confirmed that the Lannisters had left Sansa unspoiled. Stannis had no wish to marry someone so young, even if it did increase the likelihood of producing a son. Indeed, he had no wish to marry at all. His marriage to Selyse had been a mummer's farce and he could not see how this marriage would fare better. At least he and Selyse had been of a similar age. He felt pity for the Stark girl. She could not possibly want to marry someone so much older, not to mention someone who was the opposite of the courtly knights and princes of stories she had, no doubt, been weaned on. Be that as it may, for the sake of the Seven Kingdoms, Sansa Stark was a better option for the queen than others that had been suggested to him. The Tyrells would throw his brother's widow at him and sue for peace. Doran Martell would offer Arianne. It was hard to imagine the Greyjoys would offer Asha, but it was possible and would certainly be part of some plot to overthrow.

He still felt a great deal of guilt over Selyse's death, adding to the guilt he already felt about his part in Renly's death. Davos was the only person other than himself that knew about the Red Priestess' ability to give birth to a killing demon of smoke and shadow. Stannis had never allowed himself to lie with her again, but someone had and reports that his wife had been strangled and all that was seen was a dark apparition left them in no doubt that Melisandre was behind Selyse's death. She had expected him to be grateful for ridding him of a wife who could not produce an heir. Melisandre had not expected him to kill her with his bare hands for sacrificing one of her most ardent worshipers. Stannis was convinced Selyse worshiped Melisandre as much as R'hllor. Davos had not expected him to kill the priestess either, although it was obvious he approved of the action when he showed no hesitation at undertaking the task of getting rid of her body. What Stannis did not know is whether Davos suspected that one of his sons had probably been the sire of the demon. He wasn't sure which one; she manipulated all of them. Had the older ones lived through the Battle of Blackwater, he would not have attempted to learn which one or hold them accountable. Leaving any injustice alone was something he could scarcely believe he was capable of doing. Then again, he wasn't a hypocrite. Of all people, he knew how persuasive and seductive the Red Priestess was when she wanted her way. What was unexpected was that everyone easily accepted the notion that she had returned across the sea without word or warning. Perhaps the truth was that no one really cared.

Stannis hadn't seen the Stark girl since the afternoon after the battle. Davos and he had debated whether it was kinder to allow her to believe she was going home for a while longer and learn of her betrothal from her mother or to tell her now and let her prepare. Stannis had felt a great deal of confusion when he first met her, as if he was doing battle with his own conscience. Upon initial inspection, he found it hard to remember she was only a few years older than his daughter. Sansa Stark stood as tall as most grown men and the constant fear she'd lived through had gotten rid of the look of innocence she probably had when she arrived at King's Landing. The defiant look she tried to wear hadn't fooled him. One thing he had learned from her that he found unusual. She had developed some sort of attachment to The Hound, presumably out of appreciation for the security he provided. It was strong enough, that despite her fear during their first meeting, she took an opportunity to speak up for him. Stannis would provide her with security and perhaps she would look on him favorably as well … not lovingly, but favorably. If so, it would be of little consequence to him, but she would be a queen that the people loved and, as such, they might hold him in some positive regard if they saw that their queen did as well.


	3. The Lannisters

Sansa

The afternoon of her first meeting with King Stannis and his Hand, Lord Davos, she was gifted with three lengths of cloth and the necessities for creating new gowns. She recognized it as coming from the stores for Queen Cersei. The supplies were delivered by two handmaids who were ushered in by Ser Aedan, announcing that they were to be her handmaids. One handmaid, Nichola, was a few years older than Sansa and brown from time in the sun. She claimed experience in both the styling of hair and in fine needlework. Ser Aedan had told her that the latter part of the handmaid's day would be spent doing other chores within the Red Keep. The younger, fair-haired handmaid, Elise, also claimed needlework as a specialty and said she would be Sansa's dresser and take care of her day-to-day needs. While concerned for the fate of her previous handmaid, Shae, Sansa thought it was more than generous to have been given one dedicated handmaid, let alone a second one to share, for the brief time she would remain in King's Landing. They quickly set about the task of making at least one gown so that Sansa had something that was appropriately modest.

Both handmaids showed great dedication and she found she enjoyed working with them as much as she had formerly enjoyed doing needlework with Jeyne Poole. They were chatty, although Elise giggled to excess, and brought her news from around the Red Keep. One piece of news was not pleasant. Nichola had witnessed the executions of Joffrey and Queen Cersei. Lord Davos had informed her that the King left it to her whether she attended the executions or not. Sansa had replied that she had seen one execution too many.

It was Elise who first asked about it, being chided by the older handmaid for doing so in front of their lady. Admitting a morbid curiosity, Sansa encouraged the woman to relay her story of the event, asking that she leave out any gruesome details.

"The usurper king cried and begged for mercy, My Lady." Nichola imparted, sewing as she told her story. "He called King Stannis 'uncle' and the King glared back at him and said not a word, except to pronounce his sentence for all assembled. A list of his crimes against the realm was read out, including his ill treatment of you, My Lady, as well as the murder of your honorable father for bringing to light the true nature of his birth and that he was not the rightful heir to the throne. All the time, the former king squirmed and tried to break free. There was a great cheer when his head was presented by the henchman."

Sansa listened and forced herself to show no reaction, remembering how Joffrey once bragging that he would give his uncle a red smile. In truth, she wasn't sure what she felt except relief that she would never face him or hear that whiny voice giving commands for her to be beaten again. If such a thing could have been accomplished without his death, she would like to think that would have satisfied her.

"Queen Cersei was far more dignified," the handmaid continued. "Her last words were to thank King Stannis for sparing the lives of her younger children. The King acknowledged this with a nod and then pronounced her sentence for her infidelity to King Robert and deceptions that led the seven kingdoms to war."

Elise listened wide-eyed. "Was she very beautiful on her last day?"

This question received another glare from the Nicola, who undoubtedly believed any positive comment toward the late queen would not be received well. "The Queen was always blessed with great beauty," Sansa said, concentrating on the seam she was sewing. "Had she been as equally gifted with mercy and kindness as she was with beauty, she would have had no equal."

The girls also brought the sad news of Lord Davos' sons one morning, after which Sansa pardoned herself from doing needlework with them for a short time to write a note of sympathy to the Hand. There was a time, not very long ago, when she would have been disapproving of the rise of a man who had come from such low birth. How quickly her ideas on such things had dramatically changed. Sansa was reminded of her disparaging treatment of Jon Snow. She had never spoken ill to him; but rather, seldom spoke to him at all. Unlike the rest of her siblings, she had treated him as removed from the family and certainly not as a brother. Perhaps Robb would take her to the Wall for a visit or ask Jon to visit, and she could begin a reconciliation to right this wrong. Her lady mother would not receive this favorably, but Sansa didn't care. Jon was a far better man than many high-born men she'd met once she'd journeyed away from home.

Lord Davos invited her for a brief walk in the grounds of the keep after receiving her note. He brought the welcomed news that Princess Shireen and his wife, Lady Seaworth, would be arriving in five days' time. He also brought news that Lord Lannister would be leaving on the morrow and asked to see her beforehand. He made it perfectly clear it was her decision to see him or not was hers, and neither King Stannis nor Lord Davos cared if she wished to avoid the Imp. Sansa was relieved to learn that, at the request of Lord Tyrion, now Lord Lannister, Shae would accompany him to Casterley Rock. She was surprised to learn that Tommen would be staying to be raised at court. Lord Davos said it was more likely that they would wait to see where Jamie Lannister ended up and then return Tommen to his uncle if all be well.

Sansa felt she owed Tyrion a measure of courtesy and agreed to see him prior to supper that evening. However, she asked Lord Davos if he would grant her the favor of being present; claiming she was still a bit apprehensive around any Lannister. He readily agreed.

She always felt some measure of compassion for Tyrion when she watched his waddling walk. He approached her, Lord Davos standing back from her, and reached for her hand, bowing over it. "You are very kind to see me, Lady Sansa."

"You have always been kind to me, Lord Tyrion. Of all people, I am aware of how Joffrey did not allow anyone to brook his willfulness," she replied with a curtsy. Sansa was uncertain whether she should address him as Lord Lannister now that his father was dead. The heir was rightfully Jaime Lannister, but she could not believe King Stannis would allow him to take the title, if he let him live.

The Imp sighed. "That is true, but we both know I could have spirited you out of King's Landing. I admit it was not him whose retribution I feared."

She wasn't sure whether he meant Cercei or his father, but it wasn't important. "I understand Shae will accompany you to Casterly Rock. Please extend my appreciation to her for her kindness and service to me. She was a friend when I needed one." Sansa had finally figured out that Shae was one of his mistresses and he had placed her as her handmaid to keep him informed of both potential harm and any potential intrigue.

"I shall do as you ask, My Lady. May I ask, have you heard from The Hound? I do know how he came by his face and should have . . . well, I should have known fire would have been one of two things he would have left that battle because of."

"Two?" she couldn't help asking.

"The other would have been you, My Lady. He is in love with you, which is why I cannot fathom his leaving you here."

Sansa could feel herself blush. "I will always pray for his safety."

"Yes, and while it is quite a lot to ask, perhaps you would be so kind as to slip in a word for me every now and then in those prayers. I regret most of what occurred during the unfortunate reign of my nephew, but his treatment of you most of all. I understand if you tell me you never wish to hear from or see a Lannister again, but I should like to know that I may write to you from time to time."

Behind her, Lord Davos made a noise as though he was going to object, but that was not his right. "My Lord, I should like to know how you fare in the future. I also hope it will be the will of the King to send Tommen back to you. It will be difficult to raise him to not seek revenge against those who had a hand in executing his mother or in winning a battle against his grandfather. But if anyone can do that, you can. He is a good boy with a sweet spirit."

"Yes," the Imp agreed. "And for all her faults, and they were many, my sister was good to her children and earned their love. You are a familiar face to him here. I do hope you will not be estranged from him."

"I will be here but a short time, My Lord, but I will visit him whilst I am here."

This brought a rakish smile to the Imp before he bowed to her, "I will take my leave of you now, Lady Sansa, and wish you well . . . wherever you may be and in whatever the future holds for you."

Sansa curtsied in return. "As I do you, Lord Tyrion. Thank you for your kindness and safe journey." She felt a little sadness at seeing him go and had to remind herself that his family was an enemy to hers. Be that as it may, Tyrion Lannister did not feel like her enemy; he never had.


	4. The Change

Sansa

To Sansa's surprise, she was invited to attend the reception at the docks to welcome the Princess and Lady Seaworth. Remembering the last time she had made a similar journey to and from this very dock, she was not happy about the prospect, but would not insult the King and Lord Davos by refusing. She had seen King Stannis rarely since their initial meeting and little conversation, if any, had ensued. He greeted her stiffly, his face etched with his trademark scowl, yet she could not qualify it as unkind. More like the response of someone uncertain how one behaves in such a simple situation. Nichola, Elise, and she had worked feverishly to finish one of her gowns in time for the arrival. Admittedly, Nichola's skill with a needle far surpassed her own, which was no small feat. The handmaid had even managed to make some of her gowns passable for everyday wear by artfully adding fabric panels between the previous seams of the bodice and at the hem in such a way that made it look like trim or an enhancement. She was grateful that she would not meet the new additions to the Red Keep looking like someone from noble birth who had become a pauper and whose former finery was now shabby.

Knowing that Princess Shireen had survived greyscale as a child and bore the marks of it on her left check and neck, Sansa prepared herself to school her features against any reaction to the sight of the scaly patches. Sansa's heart cried for the child when she saw her disembark from the ship. She had forgotten a story she had heard in Queen Cercei's court about Lady Selyse insisting the girl's hair be worn short, making her face and neck highly visible until she saw her. The young girl was obviously growing her dark hair out since her lady mother's death, but it was still too short to provide any covering.

The Princess' hand was being held by a short, plump woman with lighter hair. It was easy to determine this was Lady Seaworth by the way her eyes quickly honed in on Lord Davos and misted. Sansa grieved for the woman who would be glad to be reunited with her husband, and still mourning the loss of her sons. Two young boys, both close to the age Rickon would have been, trailed closely behind their mother and the Princess. Both favored their father.

Sansa watched as Lady Seaworth let go of the Princess' hand and whispered to her. The Princess then stepped forward and the King walked up to close the distance between them. The greeting was painful to watch. Princess Shireen curtsied to her father and they spoke to one another, but there was no physical contact. This was sharply contrasted by Lady Seaworth throwing herself into the arms of Lord Davos who, in return, held her tightly and kissed the top of her head. They held each other for a few moments while the two boys tugged on their father's doublet for attention. Once he let go of his wife, he bent down to be of the same height to the boys and put one arm around each of them and pulled them to him. The King and his daughter joined them, and to add to the oddity of the interaction, the Princess greeted Lord Davos with an embrace she had not given her father. That taxed Sansa's already strained emotions. It left her wanting to shed tears for King Stannis as well as the Princess. She suspected neither one was as emotionless toward the other as this awkward display suggested; it was a matter of not knowing how to express it.

King Stannis soon looked in her direction and raising his hand, he moved his fingers in a forward motion to signal her to join them. "Princess Shireen, I would like you to meet Lady Sansa Stark, formerly of Winterfell."

Sansa curtsied to the Princess, who blushed shyly. "You are very beautiful, Lady Sansa."

She smiled, careful it was not a broad smile that might be misinterpreted as vanity, and made sure she looked into the girl's eyes, carefully avoiding the mistake she had often made with The Hound of looking, but not focusing, on his face. "I am delighted to meet you, Princess. I hope you had a pleasant journey."

"Yes, thank you." The girls' voice was more confident this time.

Lord Davos moved forward with his wife. "Lady Sansa, I would like to present my wife, Lady Marya Seaworth."

The two women curtsied to each other. An expression of sympathy would only mar the reunion of the Seaworth family; it would wait until later. "I am so glad you are joining Lord Davos, Lady Seaworth. My lady mother could not be here when my father was the Hand of King Robert and it grieved them both."

"I admit I am used to his being absent for long periods of time, but am grateful for any time spent with my husband," Lady Seaworth replied with a smile less schooled for propriety as she glanced up at Lord Davos with a look that could only be referred to as adoration.

Supper that evening was remarkable not for its fare, but for the behavior of those present. Sansa had expected a somber assembly attended by a family mourning the loss of their sons and brothers. It wasn't like a feast at Winterfell held to herald the arrival of guests, but an intimate family gathering. The King was more relaxed than she'd seen him to date; his lips often widened a fraction in a manner she suspected was his version of a smile at tales told by either Lord Davos or his wife. Their version of mourning seemed to consist of telling outrageous and endearing tales of their sons. They were joined by the now oldest Seaworth son, Devan. As squire to the King, he was a year or two younger than she and not quite as tall. She remembered her lady mother once saying that girls steadily grew in height while it seemed like boys just sprang up into being a man one day. Princess Shireen was obviously delighted to see him and he seemed equally happy to reunite with her. Sansa learned they had spent much time together at Dragonstone and had their lessons together.

She was pleasantly surprised she didn't feel like an outsider at this meal; like an observer to a group to which she didn't belong. Even more surprising was that King Stannis didn't completely seem like an outsider in a group where merriment and familiarity were paramount. He did not participate, but that was irrelevant. He wasn't wearing his usual scowl. Nor did he look bored or occupied with other matters. Much of this could be attributed to the warmth of Lord and Lady Seaworth. They were the host and hostess of this affair, despite the King's presence. He seemed perfectly happy to abdicate the role his rank should have made his within the walls of the Red Keep, and the Hand understood that his king preferred he act as such in this setting. The two behaved as she would expect Robb and Jon to be as older men, with Robb the more gregarious one and Jon as the more reticent, yet bound as brothers. The night was the most pleasant she'd spent in King's Landing. A fact she felt guilty thinking since there was a time when she was here with her father and sister. However, from the moment they had arrived, the Lannisters had been a shadow that blocked out any light and warmth. That shadow was no more.

After supper, the King announced he would escort the Princess and her to their chambers. They were followed by the King's Guard and the first leg of the journey into Meagor's Holdfast to the Princess' chambers was made in relative silence. Sansa inquired whether the Princess would like to join her on the morrow while she continued to work on her new gowns and this seemed to please her. She had already invited Lady Seaworth.

After bidding the Princess goodnight, Sansa watched the awkward parting of father and daughter as a handmaid Sansa didn't recognize took over at the door of the Princess' bedchamber. It was probably good she was only going to be in King's Landing a short while longer or she would not be able to stop herself from interfering in the relationship between these two. She understood the reticence of the King to show affection toward others, but not his daughter. Of course, Princess Shireen was following his lead. Apparently, her lady mother had not taught her how to show affection toward her father or encouraged it. Her heart ached for them both.

Once the door was closed behind the Princess, the King extended his arm and led her further down the dimly lit stone hallway. Sansa felt the need to say something, anything, to break the awkward silence. "Your Grace, I can hardly find words to express how much I enjoyed this evening. It has been a long time since I have . . . relaxed and enjoyed the company of others in this fashion."

"It brings back memories for me, as well," the King replied and even though he didn't lower his voice, she somehow felt like she was being let in on a secret.

"Pleasant ones, I hope."

"Memories of what my family was like before the death of my parents."

Sansa wondered what Stannis Baratheon has been like as a child. Had he always been stern and, at least so it seemed, joyless? She thought of The Hound and what his brother had done to him. Had the King suffered cruelty from King Robert to some degree that fell short of putting his face into the fire? Or perhaps it wasn't cruelty, but indifference. Sansa felt a pang of guilt thinking about how she had treated Arya. She had always berated Arya for her lack of propriety and boyish ways. She needed to change the subject.

"May I be so bold as to commend you on your choice of Lord Seaworth as Hand. Many would have considered him unsuitable solely based on his birth, but he seems more than able while he and his family show an ease of manner I've seldom experienced. They cannot express it in words or show it beyond very few who know you, but they have brought you and the Princess into their family. I am gratified that I was briefly included."

Just as she finished her statement, it hit her how overly familiar she had made herself and she stiffen, awaiting the rebuke that was sure to come. Instead, the King stopped and looked at in concern, "My Lady? Are you unwell?"

"No . . .no. Why do you ask?"

"There was a change . . . it was as if you felt a sudden pain and reacted to it."

Yes, he would have felt the tension in her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. In earnest, I was horrified by the familiarity of what I just said and thought you might take offense. . . . I have learned to become wary of what I say in Kings Landing."

The look of concern changed back to his usual scowl and he propelled them both forward again. "I am not used to familiarity, nor do I seek it," he said, although she didn't hear the harsh tone she had heard him use when he was upbraiding someone that she expected. "What you said was not offensive, perhaps because it was not unwelcome to hear. I do feel a greater kinship with my Hand than I felt with my brothers."

She was going to remark that the relationship between Lord Seaworth and him was not unlike that of her lord father and his brother, but stopped herself. King Stannis would have been a very capable Hand of the King, and King Robert had passed him over in favor of her father. Would that he had not, she thought bitterly.

They were at the door. "My Lady, I have had word that your lady mother will be here in about four days' time. I ask that you help her understand that the usual expectations of a feast of welcome will not be the norm in my court until such time as the realm is back to the financial status before my late brother and the recent wars caused such turmoil. She will be staying for my coronation and there will be a feast associated with that, but only because the Small Council insists."

"My lady mother understands frugality in hard times, Your Grace. However, I am glad to hear we are having a celebration for your coronation and that I will be here to see it."

"Are you?" he asked. There was a difference in the way he looked at her, as if searching her face for insincerity. If that was the case, he would find none. She had great confidence in the fate of the realm now that it was being ruled by him and his Hand, just as much as if her late lord father were ruling.

"Yes, Your Grace. I am glad you and my brother came to terms and that you are our king."

"Why?"

Sansa was taken aback by his bluntness, but he seemed to be asking for honesty and one thing she did feel she knew about him was that he hated insincere answers given to him because of his station. "I have known two other kings, Your Grace. My only real experience of your brother was some flattering words upon our meeting and later, his having my direwolf killed unjustly as a show of power to appease the Lannisters. I am afraid I did not respect your brother after that; his title, but not him. And you know my experience of Joffrey. So now, I will get to see the coronation of a king I do respect and do think seeks to be fair and just. I again say that I am glad you are our king."

His continued examination of her face became disconcerting. It wasn't lust; he wasn't waiting to be invited into her room. She had learned what that looked like and had seen it on many faces in King's Landing: Lord Baelish, The Hound, even Lord Tyrion Lannister. Oddly enough, she had never seen it on her betrothed. The only thing she remembered seeing on Joffrey's face was contempt.

"Good night, Your Grace," she said softly.

With that, King Stannis opened the door for her and peered in just enough to see Elise waiting for her. "Good night, Lady Sansa."

Sansa entered, turned and curtsied, and closed the door. She felt like something had just changed, yet for all the realm, she could not figure out what.


	5. The Mouths of Babes

Stannis

It was not often that his daughter sought his presence; Shireen usually came when summoned. How much of that initially had to do with her mother and was now habit, Stannis could not say. He knew he gave her little reason to seek his company and now that he was king, he had less time to seek her out. However, three days after her arrival at King's Landing, Ser Justin brought him a request that she would like to have supper with him if he could spare her the time. Stannis was aware that Lady Seaworth had invited Shireen and Sansa Stark to sup with her and her younger sons while he and Davos had their supper in the map room where they continued to work after the Small Council meetings were dismissed for the day. He had yet to be alone with Shireen since her arrival and even he knew this was not to his credit.

She curtsied when she arrived into the smaller dining area of his apartment. "Your Grace."

While normally a stickler for propriety, he hated that she had forgone calling him father in lieu of his title. "In private, I would ask that you call me Father unless you find it difficult to separate the two occasions."

"No, Father, I would not find it difficult."

He motioned for her to sit down at the chair Ser Justin had pulled out for her, after which Ser Justin left to give permission to the servers to bring in the soup course. Nothing was said until they had left and Ser Justin stood far enough back to be out of hearing range.

"What do you think of King's Landing?" he asked, more for something to say to her.

"I have seen little of it, but enjoy being in the presence of Lady Marya and the boys. I also like spending time with Lady Sansa."

"I'm glad to hear it," he remarked, not letting on how or why he was glad. This would all go smoother if the two got along well.

The next few minutes passed without conversation as they ate their soup. Stannis could tell by her fidgeting that she had something on her mind, something that had brought her to request this supper. "Shireen, I would hope you know you can tell me anything." Of course, he knew he made that difficult for everyone, including her.

She still didn't speak up immediately and he allowed her to take her time, biting back the urge to insist she get one with whatever it was that was making her so uncomfortable. Finally, she put her soup spoon down. "Father, I have heard people talk about the need for you to marry."

He hadn't expected this. "What do they say?"

"That it is your duty to marry again to attempt to provide an heir since I am female."

"I see," Stannis knew he should tread carefully here so as not to trample the feelings of a girl who had recently lost her mother. "I would be proud to name you my heir in all things, Shireen, but this is something over which I have no control, even as king."

"So you will marry again?"

"They are correct. It is my duty to do so." He tried to treat the matter blithely, although he knew his demeanor was not conducive to conveying that sort of lightness. "It is not my desire; it must be done for the good of the realm."

"I was hoping," she began, carefully weighing her words, "Well, Lady Stark is a widow now."

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Stannis had to make an effort to stifle a genuine laugh – one that started rumbling deep in his belly. Not because the idea was absurd; he remembered a time so long ago that it seemed like another life when the thought occurred to him that Catelyn Tully would make a good wife. He had logically come to the conclusion that she could not be his wife for she was slated for a first-born son, an heir. Now, Stannis was not only the Baratheon heir; he was king and yet still she could not be his wife. He did not love her, nor could he imagine himself ever doing so, but he respected her. Surely Lady Sansa had not put forth this idea to Shireen. She may be little more than a child herself, but he expected she knew this could not be. He took a second to compose himself. It would be best to hear her out. "Why do you propose Lady Stark as queen?"

The young girl cast her eyes downward as if ashamed. "I would like Lady Sansa for a sister. I don't want her to leave."

"You have become attached to her already?" Stannis was not unaware that Sansa Stark had quickly gained the favor of most of his court. Davos had shown similar signs of attachment by stating to him that fortune had smiled on him by sparing him his other choices for queen.

"She is very nice to me, as of course is Lady Seaworth, but Sansa is closer to my own age and she . . . "

"Yes?"

"She has undertaken to teach me things such as needlework, but does not treat me as a child. She treats me as her friend."

For the first time ever, Stannis had to consider how much his daughter may know about the procreation process and found it unsettling. He motioned for Ser Justin to have the next course delivered while he pondered how much he was willing to tell Shireen. It was only a matter of days before she would learn the truth and if it weren't for the fact that she may let something slip to Lady Sansa or even to Lady Seaworth, he was perfectly willing to tell her now. Stannis had no experience as a diplomat; he was not Davos who, despite his low birth, was very good at such things. Still, it was worth an attempt to see if he could lead her to seeing Lady Sansa as the future queen.

The roasted pork and vegetables were served and Ser Justin returned to standing at the doorway. "So you would like Lady Sansa to stay in King's Landing?"

"She would be sad to be away from her family though. She has missed them greatly. If her mother were here . . . "

He waited to see if she would finish the statement, but she did not. "I am sorry, Shireen. The Small Council, and indeed, the realm, would not favor Lady Stark as queen. Not because of her person, for she is well respected, but because of her age. It is far less likely that a woman of her years would produce an heir and that would be the reason for the King to remarry."

Stannis watched as Shireen digested this; he could only guess at what she was thinking. Possibly, she was relating that her own mother had stopped becoming pregnant and miscarrying before she died. Of course, age had little to do with it.

"You must marry someone young?" she asked, her forehead screwed up in deep thought.

"Yes."

Stannis ate while she merely moved food around on her plate. "Shireen, you really must eat before your food gets cold."

For a time afterward, she would take a bite, move food around more, take another bite, then continue to move the food around again. This was the mirror of what he had often done himself when food was before him, but his mind was occupied with other, weighty matters.

"Father . . . are you saying you must marry someone who has flowered, but is younger than you?"

So far, she was mentally walking the path he was trying to lead her down. Perhaps he did have enough diplomacy to lead a small child, he thought to himself wryly. "Ladies my age may yet still bear children, but the likelihood is not as high so, yes, I will have to marry someone much younger."

"How much younger? As young as six and ten?"

"Yes."

Patience was not his virtue. At least he still had food to eat while she went back to pushing hers around. Part of him just wanted to tell her he was going to marry Sansa Stark and be done with it.

"You already know to whom you will be married?"

"I don't like keeping matters that are important to you from you," he said. That was true; he preferred to be straightforward in all matters. "However, it would not be prudent to tell anyone who does not already know before the lady herself is made aware. While I trust you with a secret, as you say, many suspect and might try to gain information from you. Even your speculation would be taken as fact. Once she is made aware, I will see to it you are told next. I can do no better." As an afterthought, he added, "If you do not hear of this marriage before my coronation, you will know something happened to alter the decisions previously made."

There was more pushing around of food and taking the occasional bite before a very large smile broke out on her daughter's face, one he usually only saw when she was playing with the Seaworth boys, Edric Storm, or Patchface. "I understand, Father."

Stannis knew he shouldn't press, but did so anyway. "May I ask exactly what you understand that makes you so happy?"

"You cannot tell Lady Sansa of the marriage until her mother arrives," his daughter literally gushed in a way he had not seen before, but it was short lived. "I do so hope nothing happens to make it not so! It will be strange to think of her as your wife. I don't think I can consider her as a mother . . . "

He wanted badly to confirm this all for her, but he was right that even her speculation would be taken as fact. Perhaps she would see his lack of denial as confirmation enough. "I must ask you to keep your assumptions to yourself, Shireen, but I assure you that no one will expect you to regard anyone other than your late lady mother as your mother."

Suddenly, Shireen's appetite improved and she began to eat the food before her. It wasn't until she had her fill that she addressed him again. "I wish you would tell her before her mother arrives. Even if arrangements were made without my consent, I believe I would want to be made to feel I had some say in it, despite my knowing it was not true."

This didn't make sense to him. "If you know it is not true, then why go through the pretense?"

"Because they were low born, Lord Seaworth asked Lady Seaworth to marry him. I love to hear her tell of it. Since the first time I heard the story, I imagined being asked rather than told. I would see it as . . . as respect. I know no one will court me, Father. They will marry me to further an alliance with you and probably not be very happy about having a wife with scars from greyscale. But if he asks or seems in any way concerned that I favor the match . . . I will probably love him from that moment on."

Anger welled inside him and threatened to burst. Not at her, but at the injustice of his daughter believing no man would want her due to the scales on her face and neck. Stannis knew his teeth were grinding and that she was so used to it, it didn't disrupt her meal. Whether she knew it was out of concern for her rather than annoyance at her, he was less sure. She was not the beauty Sansa Stark was, but she was good natured and would be an intelligent lady wife to any lord. There was no alliance he required badly enough to warrant giving her to someone who would look at her as . . . well, as he had looked at her mother. Stannis Baratheon promised himself that much.


	6. The Betrothal

Sansa

When King Stannis requested that she meet him in the Godswood, Sansa assumed it had to do with preparations for her mother's arrival, expected the next day, two at the most. She found the setting an odd choice, but perhaps he wished for some fresh air and had no other time or excuse to be outside. This king did not seem to find time for leisure as his two predecessors had.

She was escorted by Ser Aedan, with whom she was having her first real discourse despite his having been her guard since the arrival of King Stannis and his retinue. Ser Aedan, from the Stornlands, and was a relative of one of the King's bannermen, Lord Velaryon, and had taken his oath of knighthood only a short time before the Battle of Blackwater Bay. He was a pleasant young man somewhere around the age of five and twenty with a wife almost ready to give birth. Sansa had already stitched a gown for the expected addition to his family.

Ser Aedan brought her to the giant oak heart tree in the Godswood whose branches were overgrown with smokeberry vines for lack of proper tending. The sight saddened her, although it had a beauty to it. The knight excused himself and said he would wait at the edge of the Godswood to escort her back and that the King would join her soon. It was only a minute later that she saw him walking towards her.

King Stannis was dressed in a plain black doublet and breeches and wore no crown. Sansa had already noticed that he only did so when he felt the occasion warranted punctuating that he was, indeed, the rightful king. She was glad this had not seemed to him to be one of those times.

She curtsied as he drew near, "Good afternoon, Your Grace."

King Stannis wore his usual scowl, but she had stopped thinking of it as fierce. It had become more like The Hound's scars or Princess Shireen's scales . . . a permanent condition for which there was no remedy. Of course, the King could smile; however, she had come to regard his scowl as his neutral expression.

There was a tree that had been felled or had fallen due to some natural event that's stump had been made smooth and of a height suitable for sitting on. The King motioned for her to be seated. Another thing she had learned to expect from the King was that difficult discourses started in silence. She braced herself for whatever was going to come next. She was relatively sure if harm had come to her mother on the journey, he wouldn't have chosen the Godswood as the place to tell her.

"My Lady," he finally started, "a king has a number of advisers that he trusts to varying degrees. I find I have an unexpected adviser, but one I trust implicitly, in my daughter."

Sansa smiled, glad to hear him speak thus of the Princess. "I wish I had her natural intelligence even now."

The King ran a hand across his brow. "She approached me, realizing there were rumors about my marrying again, with a suggestion that I propose to Lady Stark so that you two could be sisters."

The smile she had previously worn changed to a puzzled one. "You intend to offer for my mother? While she would win you favor in the North, I would have assumed an heir was of first concern."

"That is so," the King replied, "which is why I had to deny my daughter's request." There was another pause. "Had Shireen suggested anyone other than one lady, I would have had to deny her. A wife was proposed as part of the treat with your brother."

Sansa felt herself flush while he stared at her, ensuring she got the full force of his words. "I see."

"My Lady, I had planned for you to learn of this from your lady mother so that she could answer questions you may have regarding their reasons for naming this marriage as the primary condition for their fealty." She was going to remark that she had no questions when he continued, "I was owed the Stark's fealty as the rightful heir of my brother, but I accepted the condition since they agreed the betrothal would not be required if you were no longer a maid . . . I . . . given my other choices, My Lady, I was willing . . . I was not adverse . . ."

Having been told that King Stannis couldn't pay a compliment if the realm depended on it, Sansa was more shocked by his trying to imply she was a preferable choice than finding out she was a choice . . . the choice. She knew she should have suspected this was a possibility. The only reason she had not was because she assumed her family would know she had had enough of King's Landing and the royal court. The fact that they did not was disconcerting.

"Shireen suggested that you should have a say in this and I find I agree. If you wish to be freed from this, I will find a way to refuse. You have been through enough to find yourself forced into a marriage you do not want."

It seemed like hours that they merely stared at one another. He was obviously agitated and, perhaps, wishing he hadn't asked her to meet him if only because it was so difficult for him to say what he wanted to say. "You said that, given your choices . . . outside of those choices, is there someone else you wish to marry? Would my not accepting make it so you could marry someone for whom you have a preference?" Sansa wondered if he wished to marry someone closer to his age, perhaps even her lady mother. She had heard stories about interest from Tywin Lannister in earlier years. It was possible the King had once had an interest, and with no wife, had rekindled that interest.

"No," he said firmly, his expression still not having changed from the scowl he initially wore upon his arrival into the Godswood. "I do not wish to marry at all. I say that because I know, from experience, that I am not a good at being a husband. You should know that. I believe you will be a dutiful queen and that you will be considerate of the Princess. You would be a great asset to the realm."

Two compliments, as far as he could make, in one day. He really did not want this marriage, but if it was going to happen, he seemed to have decided he wanted her to acquiesce without feeling forced into it. Suddenly, the reality of the situation hit her. She knew King Stannis despised dishonesty and prized duty and justice above all else. If he found out the truth after their marriage, that her selfishness and stupidity had caused the Lannisters to overtake her father, he would surely regret her as his queen. Sansa could not stand to be a disappointment to a man who had suffered so many disappointments already.

Summoning all her courage, she started quickly before she backed out. "Thank you, Your Grace. I was tutored to be, if not queen, the lady of a great house. And yet, my vanity and foolishness have been . . . my father's execution was my fault. I did not know all, but I was the one who told Cersei he planned to remove Arya and me from King's Landing. When she asked me why . . . I did not know her for who she was and I should have by then, so she was able to coax me into telling her what I did know. It was enough. No, that is not true. I was all too eager to tell her; eager to find any way to stay. I only saw what I wanted to see. I saw a young prince who would be king. I saw a romantic tale with no truth."

Sansa could barely see him for the tears that were pooling in her eyes. Unlike when terrified into silence, she rambled when nervous and found she couldn't help herself now, "Your Grace, I admit I had not anticipated this. I thought to go home for a time, perhaps learn to live with myself and what I have done before being told whom I must marry. For I will be forced into a marriage one day and will consider it as my punishment, although not nearly as severe as I deserve. When I consider the options that will have been placed before me shortly after my return . . . I will even more regret my actions for I would have been proud to be your wife and the queen of a good king who cares about his people."

It would be wrong to say he had not been studying her this whole time in the Godswood, yet it would be accurate to say he studied her more intently now. "I do not require flattery, Lady Sansa."

Sansa was taken aback at his not reacting to her confession by rebuking her, and even more astonished that she only felt sorrow and not intimidation. Was it because he did not fear him or had she simply used up all her fear already? "Flattery, Your Grace, is sometimes the truth as in this case. I do believe you to be a good king by the effort you have thus shown." She tried hard not to sniffle and brought a finger up to wipe at stray tears rolling down her cheeks. "I had hoped to never have to tell my lady mother the part I played in all this. It will only increase her sadness and bring shame upon our family. Yet I will do so and when I do, she will release you."

King Stannis continued to stare at her and there was some teeth grinding that seemed to go with it before he spoke. "What you have been through in the last year has changed you. I, too, carry the burden of guilt for things I wish never to be spoken of. The best we can do is to learn from them so that we do not repeat them or their like. If you told me this to give me an excuse to free you from this betrothal, then say so and we will find another way to do so that does not include telling Lady Stark your secret. However, if you are sincere in what you've said . . . that you would otherwise agree to be queen, then we will never speak on this again." And then as an afterthought, he drew a breath adding, "I am sorry, My Lady, but I do not carry a kerchief."

She couldn't help but smile up at him, albeit through watery eyes. "Thank you . . . thank you for understanding and . . . thank you, Your Grace, for giving me the choice rather than commanding me by saying it is my duty."

"If you agree to become queen, you will be burdened with a great many duties," he replied, clearing his throat again. "All of which I believe you equal to."

She was examining him as closely as he did her for signs of truth over and above mere words. "Can you truly forgive my part in what has happened to the realm?"

King Stannis took in a deep breath and let it out. "My Lady, I think you exaggerate your role and even if you do not, you have already been punished enough. As I said, you will hear no more of it from me."

"Then, Your Grace, if you can forgive my failures and still see me as your queen, I humbly accept."

A nod conveyed the matter was settled. "I should see that get you back inside now, the evening grows cooler and you do not have your cape." With that, King Stannis presented his arm. Sansa looked at it for a second and remember a story Old Nan told her about an ancient Northern custom called the Favor of Troth where a young girl, pleased with her betrothal, did not place her hand on her betrothed's arm, but tucked her arm under it instead, and then placing her hand on his arm. He gave her a questioning look when she placed her arm and hand in his in this fashion, but did not remark on it. Instead, he pulled his arm closer as if he thought she did it to steady herself for walking on the uneven ground. Old Nan's story did say part of the significance of holding his arm this way was willingly accepting the protection of your future husband. He would not know the significance of this old Northern custom, but she knew . . . that was all that mattered. She didn't love him, but she respected Stannis Baratheon, and she meant every word about his being a good king. Moreover, she had found a family that was not the family she was born into and greatly missed, but was a family where she felt a sense of belonging and affection.

They spoke no more until they found Ser Aedan at the edge of the Godswood waiting. "I will leave you, Lady Sansa," he said stiffly. She curtsied and released his arm, putting her hand on Ser Aedan's in the normal fashion. "Good day, Your Grace."


	7. The Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit I made quicker work than I'd like of this chapter. For the sake of the overall story, one can imagine the vast amount of catching up and what Lady Stark and Sansa talked about during their days and night together before the wedding

Catelyn

The first glimpse she had of her daughter was when she, Greatjon Umber, and Leobald Tallhart had ridden halfway across the drawbridge into Maegor's Holdfast. A woman dressed in an emerald-colored gown with fiery red hair and Tully blue eyes appeared; it was like looking back at herself twenty years ago. Sansa was not a girl any longer; she was a woman now, flowered and about to be queen. Catelyn Stark recognized Lord Davos Seaworth, Hand of the King, by her side. She still did not approve of a man from such low birth being placed in such a high position. Despite the clothes of a lord, he looked like a smuggler to her - his features worn by salt and sea. To be fair, during Stannis' visit to Riverrun, she had learned why such trust was placed in him. Few would be as patient with Stannis Baratheon, king or no.

As she got to the end of the drawbridge, Catelyn dismounted and within a second was in the full embrace of her daughter, Sansa. She closed her eyes as they held each other tightly, both trying not to sob. Catelyn was the first to pull away, seeing her escorts fidgeting. "I am so sorry, My Love. Sorry for all you have suffered," she said to her in a whisper.

"Let's not speak of it, Mother," Sansa whispered. "I want to enjoy the time we have together before we must part again."

Sansa knew! Catelyn fully expected Stannis to leave telling Sansa of their agreement to her, if only because she could not picture him doing so. Her poor daughter had probably had to learn of it from the Hand.

Lord Seaworth, who has been speaking to Ser Greatjon and Ser Leobald, bowed to her. "Welcome back to King's Landing, Lady Stark. The King could not be here to greet you as there were urgent matters to attend to and I must return, as well. Ser Justin will take Ser Greatjon and Ser Leobald to their accommodations and Ser Aedan will escort you and Lady Sansa back to her apartments. We assumed you wished to stay with her, but if you desire other accommodations, it could be arranged."

"I will be happy to stay with my daughter, My Lord, thank you."

"Your things will be brought to Lady Sansa's apartments and unpacked for you. I will also see that food and drink are brought as well. My wife, Lady Seaworth, and I would be honored if you would all be our guests for supper this evening?"

Catelyn smiled towards Greatjon Umber. She had made a modest wager with him that there would be no feast to welcome them. He was certain being king would take some of the starch out of Stannis Baratheon's rigid ways. She quickly returned her gaze to Davos Seaworth. "We would be delighted, My Lord."

With that, Davos Seaworth bowed and took his leave. Ser Justin Massey stepped up to lead her two escorts away while she was briefly introduced to Ser Aedan Hightower. He stood a respectful distance behind them as Sansa took her hand and led her into Maegor's.

"How is Robb?" Sansa asked.

"He is well and sends his love. You have not seen or heard of Arya in all this time?" Catelyn asked in hushed tones as they walked.

"No, Mother. My hope is that Father managed to find someone to take her across the sea into Braavos or somewhere else safe."

"What became of Septa Mordane?"

Tears began to well in Sansa's eyes and Catelyn knew the answer. "You are right, we do not need to speak of this. I know enough and if there is anything you want to tell me while I am here, I will listen."

They spent the remainder of the walk in silence, not wishing to be overheard. Once inside Sansa's chambers, they were not alone there. Handmaids she was told were Nichola and Elise were unpacking and putting things away. They made quick work of it, curtsied, and left.

Finally alone, Catelyn embraced her daughter again and both broke, allowing tears to fall. After a time, Sansa pulled away. "You must be tired. Would you like to rest or eat first?"

Catelyn smiled through the tears that still clouded her vision as they both sat; her daughter had not forgotten her courtesies. "When food and drink are brought, I will partake, but for now, I want to look at you. " She felt a pang of guilt. Such beauty would be wasted on Stannis Baratheon.

"I was told Robb is to marry one of Lord Frey's daughters. Do you know which one?"

"No. I admit I thought that, while his daughter might be called queen, Walder would give his most attractive daughter in marriage for that post. Now that she is to be the lady of a lord with no house of his own, I cannot say he will be that generous."

She had expected Sansa to giggle or pout and say it served Robb right for giving her away to a man so much older than she was, but that girl was gone. "Poor Robb," Sansa said with genuine pity. "I do hope you are wrong and that Lord Frey does well by Robb in his selection."

"And you? How do you feel about your impending marriage?"

Catelyn watched as Sansa folded her hands in her lap and study them as she spoke. "I fear being queen, but I do not fear the King. The golden-haired prince I had dreamed of turned out to be a monster. Some think Stannis is a monster, but he is not. He reminds me of Father."

She scoffed. "I would hardly compare your father to Stannis Baratheon! Ned did smile and he showed affection to his wife and children." No sooner were the words out than Catelyn wished she could take them back. It was good that Sansa looked on Stannis as being like Ned, and she had just tried to dispel that.

"I meant they were similar regarding duty and honor." Sansa paused and she bit her lip before speaking. "I am not saying he feels any affection for me, but I do see he feels it for others despite not being able to show it in ways most would recognize."

Sansa was looking for good in him; looking for reasons to care about him. Catelyn didn't know if this was a good thing or not, but she wouldn't or couldn't argue against it. Telling Sansa she needed to shield her heart rather than give it to the man she would call husband might be tantamount to telling her to lay down and die. Stannis Baratheon would never hurt her and would do everything in his power to see that no one else did either. Catelyn wasn't sure she agreed that Stannis was capable of affection, but he had a strong sense of guarding what he considered belonged to him.

"Marriage to Stannis is the best protection I have for you right now against the possibility of Jaime Lannister's revenge. I have enough fear for Robb on that score, but more for you."

Sansa's expression softened. "As I said, I fear being queen. I will do my best and try to be a good queen and I have no illusions anymore about life here being a sweet tale. Make no apology for successfully arranging for me to marry the King because of his person. I respect him and I agree that he is my best chance of being safe. There is only one other man I feel could make me a similar offer, but it would have required me to live a life I wasn't born to lead and would not have gone well for either of us."

What was this? Who was this other man she was speaking of? Catelyn had heard that Tyrion Lannister had been kind to her, but she couldn't think that was who Sansa was referring to if only because Tyrion would be the last one to physically able to protect her against Jaime's wrath or to command Lannister men to go against Jaime. Petyr Baelish and false promises came to mind, but Catelyn saw a faraway wistfulness, such a woman gets when talking of an old love long gone, in her daughter's eyes. She could not imagine Petyr had managed that sort of feeling in Sansa.

"This man of whom you speak. Is he someone I know? Do you have . . . feelings for him?"

"It isn't important. He is gone and while I pray he is not, possibly dead," Sansa deflected with a sigh. "The King knows I consider him as the primary reason I was able to survive as best I did. He could not save me, but he kept me from worse harm."

Catelyn wanted to know more; however, she knew it was for reasons of curiosity only. Whomever this savior was, he was no longer a part of Sansa's life and she decided to be grateful to this unknown person . . . just as she would be grateful to King Stannis every day a raven did not come to bring news her daughter was no longer alive and well.

They were interrupted by a light knock on the heavy wood door. "Come," Sansa called out. The handmaid, Elise arrived carrying a tray with cold meats, cut vegetables, and a pitcher of water. Catelyn was impressed by how Sansa still always thanked servants; it wasn't something she did and was not considered something most high-born did. Sansa, however, always had and probably always would.

"Hopefully, I have assured you that I am grateful for the match you have made for me," Sansa continued with their conversation after the handmaid had left. "There is much for us to do and little time to do it. We have been working on a new gown I believe will be suitable for the wedding and coronation. It is the color of a dove . . . "


	8. The Request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning that this is OOC and beyond AU, but I couldn't help myself - it's the only excuse I have!

Stannis

It was late when Ser Justin knocked lightly on the King's bedchamber door. It was the type of knock he knew to mean that he didn't need to answer if either he didn't hear it or wished to pretend he didn't hear it. Ignoring things was not his way.

"Yes" he called out to have Ser Justin enter, "What is it?"

"Your Grace, I am not sure if this is of any concern to you, but Lady Stark sits alone in the Small Council chambers. She has been drinking the Dornish Red. I asked her if she would like me to escort her back to Maegor's and she, well Your Grace, she threw an empty flagon at me."

Stannis sighed heavily, knowing his teeth were grinding as he listened. "Why did you not take this matter to the Hand?"

"Lord Seaworth had to oversee a series of last-minute preparations for the wedding and coronation, and I have not been able to find him. I sought only to inform you, Your Grace, in case you wished something done on the matter."

This was exactly what he didn't need right now. He had separated himself from the last of the preparations in order to get some rest and have some peace before the storm. What was Lady Stark playing at? "I will see to her."

Stannis watched her from the Small Council entryway as Lady Stark, barely visible in the moonlight coming in from the windows, drank from the goblet with her head bowed. He imagined this was grief and this place was chosen since this is where Ned Stark, as Robert's Hand, would have spent a great deal of his time.

Not knowing what else to do, he came into the room and pulled out a chair across from her and sat. "My Lady, this will not help."

She didn't look at him but took another drink of wine. "Tomorrow, my daughter will be queen and all I can think about is the bedding. I remember how utterly horrible that was for me."

Stannis would have bolted upright and left if he hadn't been so stupefied by her words. By all accounts, the match between Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully had been a great success; one the nobility used to tell their children to signify that affection was possible in arranged marriages. Then it occurred to him that she most likely meant the bedding ritual and not her first night with Ned.

"I do not intend to allow a bedding, My Lady. You need not worry."

This brought a harsh laugh, although she still did not look up. "I'm glad Sansa will be spared that indignity, but that is not what I meant. When I sent her here, I believed she could make any man she married love her, especially a boy the age of Joffrey. I even counted on Joffrey having some of Robert's hotter blood in him, so that by the time of the wedding, he would be so enamored with her, she wouldn't have the wedding night I did. Poor Ned. He thought the kindest thing he could do for his new lady wife was to do his duty quickly and leave her in peace. I don't remember the pain of childbirth, but I do remember the pain of that night."

Stannis couldn't believe she was saying this, nor could he believe he was listening. He knew he should leave, with or without her. Instead, he waited to hear what all this was in aid of, for he did think there was a purpose to her speech. Did she regret proposing the betrothal? It was too late to back out of it now.

"In that first fortnight, I grew to like my husband by day and dread his visit at night. The minute he would leave me those first nights, I would break into tears. Then came the night that he, for whatever reason because I never asked him, began to touch me . . . as if exploring a map. He became so preoccupied with my response to what he was doing that he forgot to get what he was there for over and done with. From that night forward, he ceased to act like he was performing a duty and I ceased to dread nightfall." Finally, Catelyn looked up, and taking another drink she trained her Tully blue eyes on him. "You are marrying a girl who will make every effort to love you, even if it isn't returned. Please . . . I beg you . . . please do more than your duty by her tomorrow night."

Suddenly, Stannis wished he had a goblet filled with Dornish Red. He couldn't say he hadn't given the wedding night any thought. Mostly, it was to feel pity for Sansa. He assumed she would be both anxious at losing her maidenhead and regretting that circumstances had robbed her of a young handsome husband like the Knight of Flowers. Lady Stark was right about one thing; he had intended to do his duty and leave her in peace. It was, more or less, what Selyse had demanded of him. She made him well aware that he couldn't get it over with fast enough to suit her. And here was his future wife's mother practically begging him to paw over her daughter before taking her maidenhead.

"Why did you offer her in marriage if you thought she would be so miserable?"

Catelyn Stark took another drink and hiccuped in a most unladylike fashion. "Because, as queen to a king she can respect, she will be the queen Cersei, Lyanna, and even Selyse were not capable of being. You have no idea how fortunate you will be in having her as your queen. The realm will love her, and they will have reason to. She will be compassionate rather than hungry for power. And, through her, they will come to love you; if only because you gave them her."

He said nothing, he had had that very thought many times as he witnessed how people reacted to Sansa - including himself.

"And . . . Sire . . . she will be loyal. If you doubt her, it will be because of your own insecurities, not due to anything she does. Always remember she survived the Lannisters with her maidenhead intact. Most would have sacrificed that to find a champion to either remove her from King's Landing or to have found revenge for her."

The very fact that he hadn't believed she could have survived her time her without that sacrifice, plus that he hadn't believed The Lannisters had enough honor to leave her that shred of dignity, was why he had originally agreed to the treaty that stipulated the betrothal would only take place if she was a maid. For one of the few times ever, fortune had smiled on him in spite of himself. Her mother was right. Sansa would try to be a good queen to him and to the people with little, if any, concern about enjoying what power she might have because of it.

Taking a long drink that he assumed drained the goblet from the way she turned it up and sniffled from the tears that still rolled unabated down her cheeks, Lady Stark returned to the position he'd originally found her in with her head bowed. "I suppose nothing is perfect. I know Ned loved me. He gave me five children and a good life, yet he still felt the need to be with another woman and bring his bastard child to live in my home. You will never do that to Sansa, despite never loving her. You will see that she is safe and treated well. . . . Nothing is ever perfect." With that, she made a shaky attempt to rise.

"One moment, Catelyn," Stannis shocked himself not only by his familiar manner in addressing her but also with the knowledge of what he was about to do. She sat back down but didn't look at him. Was he really going to do this? Was he going to tell her what he had long suspected? Would it be less harmful to do so now than it ever was if it were correct?

"I do not know this to be true; however, I would ask you a few questions to see if you might draw some new conclusions. To start, do you really believe Rhaegar Targaryen would stoop to kidnapping Lyanna? Was it his character to do so, or was it more in her character to go with him – to go with a man she was infatuated with rather than marry one she was not? Was it not more like her to plead with him to take her?"

At this, Catelyn Stark's head shot straight up, although she didn't look at him. "Yes, I suppose so. But even so, what does it change?"

"Does it not make more sense, given what you know of those involved, that Lyanna had a child by Rhaegar rather than Ned fathering a child by any woman other than you?"

At this, her head did turn sharply towards him and, even with just the moonlight, he could see her watery eyes were widened. "Are you saying Jon Snow is Lyanna's child? Why would Ned not tell me that if it were so? Why make me suffer the indignation?"

"If I am right, your indignation was the smaller sacrifice than the life of his nephew and the only son of his beloved sister. For make no mistake about it, if Robert had merely suspected Jon Snow was not Ned's bastard . . . if he questioned it because you accepted the boy's presence and treated him as family . . . he would have put the boy to death despite his friendship with Ned. If Jon Snow is really the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, the only way to keep him alive was to keep the secret, even from you."

At this, Stannis stood and rounded the table to her side. "I am only speculating. It may be a story I tell myself for the sole amusement of believing my arrogant brother had been deceived by those he valued most. Come, My Lady. It is time you were abed. I will send Ser Justin to Maester Dion for a potent to avoid the coarser effects of the drink on you for the morrow."

She stood slowly, taking his arm for support. Once fully upright, she gripped his arm before moving any further. "You have done something this night I did not think you capable of. You have showed me compassion. "

"Yes . . . well . . . " he floundered awkwardly, his scowl deepening. "I merely told you what I suspected."

"And you did so in an attempt to bring me a measure of peace. I may be wrong . . . you may, indeed, have a heart and my daughter may yet win it."

He heard the scoffing sound he made automatically when someone said something flattering and wished he hadn't. "Let me escort you back to your chamber. Sansa will be concerned."


	9. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some may ask what the purpose of the nap between one series of vows and the last marriage ceremony followed by the feast was about. Somehow, I felt the couple would be too exhausted for a wedding night without it. Davos would always plan with his King's best interests at heart!

Sansa

For two days before the coronation of King Stannis and their wedding, Lord Seaworth, whom she had come to think of as "Davos," and Maester Pylos had reviewed the sequence of the day's events with her and her lady mother. The Hand of the King had been very sensitive to honoring any special wishes she might have and, in turn, she tried to ensure the day included everyone. For example, the agenda called for Sansa and Lady Stark to break their fast together, but when Sansa asked whether Princess Shireen would start the morning with her father, she learned there were no special plans for the Princess. Thus, she asked that the Princess join them.

That breaking of the fast and putting on the Stark grey gown with its detailed black embroidery were the last things Sansa remembered clearly from start to finish until she was seated beside her new husband at the feast later that evening. Afterward, events became a series of blurs with pockets of great clarity. Perhaps, in the days to come, details would emerge more clearly; however, as she sat at the feast listening to Lady Stark talk to various attendees and trying to make polite responses when necessary, she could only see snippets of the day in her mind.

The first clear vision was of the King being crowned by the High Septon. Sansa remembered a surge of pride at the look of "her king" as opposed to her memories of his older brother, who looked like a fat man with a crown, and Joffrey, a boy with a toy crown. Stannis Baratheon, in his regal black breeches and doublet decorated with gold threads, looked like a king should in her eyes – powerful, dignified, strong. She was also gratified that the cheers from the crowd were louder than she remembered when the High Septon went through the formality of putting the crown on Joffrey's head. It could be said they were still in mourning for King Robert, but she preferred to think it was because they knew this king had already proven to them that he would be just and serve them.

The next vision was the start of the wedding festivities. Davos had been apologetic when he first told her that there would be three wedding ceremonies so that no one in the realm could say they were not properly married. The possible exception would be those who worshiped the drowned god among the Ironborn, but Davos considered them of no consequence in this matter. The first two ceremonies were private and held right after the Coronation. The wedding before the old gods was held in the Godswood by the very giant oak heart tree where the King had informed her they were betrothed. Like many Northern maidens with dreams of marrying a handsome prince or lord, Sansa had memorized the vows to be spoken before both the old gods and the new before she was two and ten. She spoke them clearly, as did King Stannis. The intensity of his eyes as they held hers while he spoke his vows sent a rush through her that she found confusing. It wasn't a rush from fear or trepidation, yet she could not name its cause. There was no kiss at the end of this ceremony.

The next ceremony was held in a room inside Maegor's Holdfast where a fire had been lit in the fireplace. Only the King and herself were inside the room, with others waited outside the open doorway. Her lady mother had gone to the chambers that, until this day, had been hers while at King's Landing to rest. Vows were not necessary for the wedding ceremony of those who worshiped the red god, R'hllor. A priest asked them to join hands and hold them toward the flames. Sansa had a vague memory of the warmth of King Stannis' touch even before their hands neared the fire. The red priest spoke of good and evil, being bound by fire and blood, facing terrors together, and other things she had no interest in remembering distinctly.

After the ceremony of R'hllor, Sansa was escorted by Ser Aedan to the Queen's chambers where Nichola, not Elise, waited for her to remove her gown. She would have a few hours to rest and have a light meal before the ceremony attended by most of the nobility in King's Landing, the wedding ceremony before the Seven. Since the execution of her father, Sansa only slept when exhausted and in short bursts, often awakened by a nightmare that left her unable to sleep for hours or not at all. Shae, her former handmaid, had given her a tea that made her sleep through the night and left her groggy upon awaking. She was so listless the morning after the first time she drank it that Joffrey had had her beaten by Ser Meryn for not answering him as promptly as he wished. Afterward, she had Shae's tea only when she knew Joffrey would be involved in some event that would leave her in peace for the day. However, exhaustion from the morning and early afternoon had left her fatigued enough to fall into a deep sleep the moment she closed her eyes. She did not awake until Nichola nudged her gently to tell her it was time to prepare for the next ceremony.

Her next memory was walking into the Royal Sept. The sun coming in through the crystal windows made the room warm and the Stark cloak she wore made the heat unbearably oppressive. Sansa tried to smile at those who smiled at her, some of whom sat idly by and watched her being beaten by Joffrey's guards and who laughed when he berated her. Her lady mother had warned her that some would find her wearing her hair down in the Northern fashion at the wedding of a King an act of defiance, but she insisted.

King Stannis still wore the black and gold doublet of his coronation, gold crown, and a black cloak with the same gold needlework depicting the Baratheon stag sigil. For the first time, she thought of him as handsome and realized that, at least for today, he had traded his normal scowl for an expression of complete neutrality. Stannis regarded her curiously as she smiled at the thought that he had had to practice the art of having no expression.

The most vivid memory of the day for Sansa was after the vows when the King unclasped her House Stark cloak and removed it from her shoulders, handing it to Lady Stark, and then put the House Baratheon cloak around her. His hand had gently freed her hair from the collar of the cloak. She knelt before him as he took a miniature version of his stag-based golden crown off the tufted silk pillow held by the High Septon and then placed the crown on her head. When she rose, their eyes met and his bore into hers with the same intensity they had earlier in the Godswood as he leaned toward her for the traditional kiss. Sansa closed her eyes, not out of a sense of that being what a woman does when kissed, but because she was afraid the sheer force of his continued gaze would cause her knees to buckle. While the kiss was brief, it was vastly different from the wet contact of lips she had received from Joffrey. Perhaps because his lips were thinner, there was firmness to them as, slightly parted, they pressed against hers softly.

Sansa remembered the sound of more cheering and, to a lesser extent, being escorted from the Royal Sept on King Stannis' arm. Her next memory was sitting at the table of the feast, barely touching the food and wine before her until the King . . . her husband . . . leaned toward her. "I do not dance, but you should join in if you would like." It was the first he had spoken to her other than citing their vows. His words were kindly said, but she noted his normal scowl had returned and she found it oddly comforting in a familiar way.

Normally, Sansa loved to dance and she had already watched as several of her favorite formations were danced by those present. Tonight, however, she was afraid she would stumble and allow people to claim she had gotten intoxicated at her wedding. If you had told her before she left Winterfell that she would do anything other than dance this night away in celebration and not miss a step, she would have believed you a fool. "Thank you, Your Grace. For tonight, I am content to sit by your side and watch the merriment." It was a response Septa Mordane would have been proud of.

Lady Stark, who had appeared somewhat ill that morning, had told her the King said there would be no bedding ritual. This was a great relief. While she had found it exciting and a bit wicked when she'd witnessed it at the weddings of others, she did not relish the thought of being stripped and pawed by drunken men. Joffrey would have encouraged them to do all sorts of illicit things to her, but King Stannis, her husband, would never allow anyone to treat her with anything less than the utmost of dignity.

No, Stannis Baratheon was not the handsome golden-haired prince or lord she once dreamed of, nor was he the dangerously exciting Hound she had found herself inexplicably drawn to. He was the man who would protect her and provide the life she had been raised to expect outside of her girlish fantasies.


	10. The Bedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be a good time to remind readers that I've upped Sansa's age to 16 in this AU story - and wish I could have upped it more, but that would have been totally out of keeping with the customs of Westeros.
> 
> Apologies in advance - I am not a good writer by any stretch, but this sort of chapter would be at the lowest end of my ability scale.

Stannis

Given that Sansa seemed too nervous or frightened to join into the dancing and that Shireen began to nod off, Stannis informed Davos it was time for him and his queen to leave - much earlier than planned. Everyone had already been informed there would not be the usual bedding ritual and the logistics of escorts for the King and Queen had been decided in advance. Lady Stark would escort her daughter back to the Queen's apartments, along with Davos and Ser Aedan. Davos would then see Lady Stark back to her apartment. Ser Rolland and Ser Justin would escort the King as part of their role in the King's Guard, but first, the King would see the Princess safely to their chambers.

Davos spoke briefly to his wife, who rose to presumably gather up her two youngest boys, and then stood himself. A nod of his head stopped the dancing of Ser Rolland and the drinking of Ser Justin to join them at the table. Ser Aedan had stood behind his Queen for the entire festivity. Stannis felt he had made a good selection in the young knight as the primary guard for his . . . yes, his wife. Sansa was his wife now.

"Is it time?" Sansa said, reacting to the commotion around her.

"Yes," he replied, suddenly feeling he should have consulted her to see if she was ready to leave. Stannis wasn't used to such concessions, and had seldom, if ever, considered making them with Selyse. At any rate, it was too late to do so now. He stood and presented his arm. Again, she took it in that strange tucked in manner she did in the Godswood and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Stark raise her eyebrows as if surprised by something. With her sense of propriety, she probably thought it too early to leave their guests. Surely, after her drinking the previous evening, Catelyn Stark would want an early night tonight.

Davos called for everyone's attention and Stannis addressed the room. "The Queen and I thank all present here today celebrating our wedding. The feast will continue for a few hours after we leave . . . we bid you good night."

Sansa smiled wanly as if to punctuate his small speech and held on to his arm as he led her toward the end of the table where Shireen sat, barely able to keep her eyes opened. She had so looked forward to this feast and had insisted she would not be dismissed when servants came to remove the small children after the food was served. Sansa let go of his arm as he bent and collected his daughter in his arms and lifted her until one arm supported her against him while he was, again, able to present his arm to Sansa. And again, she positioned her hand on the side of his arm next to his body rather than on top of his arm.

Davos presented his arm to Lady Stark and they followed with Ser Aedan behind them. At the entrance of the hall, they were met by Sers Rolland and Justin. There, without word, the party departed for Maegor's Holdfast. Despite the call for decorum at this feast, bawdy remarks from both men and women could be heard as they left. No one was so drunk they were brave enough to speak until the King was out of the room.

Shireen was asleep when they arrived at her bedchamber. Rather than hand her to the handmaid, who probably could not carry her, he took her inside and laid her on the bed, lightly kissing her forehead before he rose up. Her handmaid was working to remove her clothes to make her more comfortable as he left.

Wordlessly, his two guards walked with him to his chambers where Devan Seaworth waited in the ready to attend him. Stannis dismissed him and took his time undressing and putting on the linen undertunic and robe. His feet were bare as he made his way down the hallway that led to the door into the Queen's bedchamber. He had made a concerted effort all day not to scowl or grind his teeth and while he caught himself doing both several times throughout the day, he knew he was grinding his teeth so furiously, all of the Keep could probably hear it. It wasn't because he found bedding Sansa distasteful. On the contrary, honesty forced him to admit the idea was anything but distasteful. He was, after all, a man. His appetites might not be as insatiable as his older brother's had been, but they existed and Sansa Stark . . .no . . . Sansa Baratheon . . . was a rare beauty from whom he'd yet to witness signs of shrewishness that might make her less appealing. What he feared was that, by the end of this night, she would hate him and wish no more of him. Her own lady mother had said that she had been sorely disappointed in her wedding night. Stannis didn't want that for his queen and yet he wasn't sure how to make it otherwise.

Stannis knocked softly on the door and opened it slowly. The room was lit solely by the light of the fire. It had been a warm day but had quickly grown cool after sunset. At first glance toward the bed, he didn't see her. Instead, he found her closing the drawer of a wardrobe across the room. She turned toward him, her face as red as her flaming hair as it fell about her shoulders. Sansa rolled her eyes and began to walk toward him and he realized what she had been doing. She had been looking for another nightgown. "I believe," she started, "my handmaids purposely took the other nightgowns away knowing I'd try to change out of . . . this."

The nightgown in question was designed to entice the very appetites he had been thinking of just moments before. It was made of blue silk and while he was loathed to think of the coin spent on such finery for this purpose, the match to her Tully blue eyes was all the more striking. The front and back of the gown, if you could really call it that, were joined by being tied with white ribbons on each shoulder and under her arms. The element she probably found objectionable was that there was no seam down the side of the gown, only a series of ties that showed bare skin between them.

"It is . . . you look . . . ," he tried to think of words that did sound inane coming from him.

Sansa's blush was all the more pronounced. "It looks like something worn in one of Lord Baelish's brothels."

Not prone to lying, Stannis shrugged, "Possibly. I haven't been to one of his establishments to know. I believe the handmaid who fashioned this was well intended. You need not wear it again if it displeases you."

Her eyes conveyed even more distress. "It is a gown worn by a woman with more . . . experience . . . and knowledge than I have. I would not want to give the wrong impression."

So far, this was not going well. An already frightened young maiden was made more so by a piece of clothing or lack thereof. Stannis tried to think of how to help her. He untied the sash of his robe, quickly shrugged out of it, and placed it around her, freeing her hair out from under its confines . . . much as he had done with the Baratheon cloak at their wedding ceremony. He must have done well for she met his eyes with a small smile and said, "Thank you, Your Grace," in reply.

Without thinking, his hand moved to her hair, his fingers splaying in its thickness. She watched him and at least some of her distress seemed to have dissipated. "Are you afraid?" he whispered the question.

Sansa took a deep breath and let it out before leaned into his hand slightly. "I have known fear, Your Grace. This is merely being anxious about the unknown . . . like most every maiden before me, I would assume."

"You may wish me to make quick work of this and be gone . . . if I do so, it could . . . ," Stannis wished he'd considered what he might say to her before he was actually here. The words to finish what he wanted to say were hard to find. "You may find it more unpleasant if I do this quickly."

Sansa looked away for a moment as if she too were searching the room for words. After a few seconds, she looked back up at him with serious earnest. "I want to be a wife, Your Grace, not a duty."

He had no reply to that; there was no need. Removing his hand from her hair, he reached for her hand and gently pulled her toward the bed. The bed linens and fur coverings had already been turned down. When they stood next to the bed, he released her hand and took his robe from around her shoulders and tossed it toward a nearby chair, not looking to see if it landed there or in the floor. Wide Tully blue eyes stared back at him as he lowered his head to kiss her. Her lips parted when he brought his arms around her back and pulled her against him. The loose undertunic he wore had hidden the fact that the sight of her in the gown she wore had made him harden; it would no longer be hidden from her as he pressed her close.

As his tongue began to explore her mouth, she squirmed against him slightly and he heard a moan escape from her lips. Stannis' brain could not process this completely, nor did it seem to need to for his body reacted to the sound by grinding against her in return. In the years he'd been married to Selyse, he had never heard her make such a sound. With one hand still holding her against him, he raised the other and untied one of the ribbons at her shoulder. He heard a sound that might have been a protest when his lips moved off of hers, but he was soon treated to another moan and her head lolling backward slightly when he lips found a sensitive spot on her neck.

Stannis wasn't sure how they ended up in the bed, whether he initiated the move or she did. It was probably his doing. The move exposed her breast on the side he had untied. Lying on his side next to her, he moved back to kissing her mouth before caressing the bare teat, his hand stroking as gently as he could manage. The moan this produced nearly drove him over the edge in wanting to be inside her. He reminded himself that she needed far more from him to be ready for that. Slowly, he began to reach into the open areas along the side of nightgown to stroke and explore her body, untying as he went and silently thanking whoever had fashioned this nightgown.

Sansa moved so that her left arm, previously pinned along his side, was free to allow her hand to roam along his back. Her right hand began an exploration of its own, albeit a shy one. At first, she confined it to his arm and shoulder, but as his caresses grew bolder and made their way lower down her body, her hand reached inside the undertunic to his chest. He heard himself let out a moan of his own when her fingernails grazed a nipple. How could such a simple touch do that to him?

Eventually, his hand parted her thighs and caressed the mound there. Stannis hadn't considered whether this would be the end of his exploration or the true beginning until she ground against his hand. Instinct rather than knowledge told him what to do here, and when moans turned into panting and her movements became more of a thrashing, he continued in rapt fascination for the luxury of watching her respond. His couplings with Selyse had been laborious undertakings and the times with Melisandre . . . Stannis didn't want to think about that, except to acknowledge that it had been about quick lust and manipulation.

It was uncertain which of them was more surprised when she released. Afterward, in the light of the fire, he could see she was embarrassed. Stannis kissed her again before moving the front panel of the nightgown aside and parting her legs to accommodate him. Moving so that one arm supported him on top of her, he eased himself into her as gently and slowly as he could manage, watching her for signs of distress. Entering a woman this wet was new to him and he felt something he wasn't sure should be labeled as pride or power. Whatever it was, it was all based on her. He felt her body tense and her fingernails dig into his back as he broke through her maidenhead. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked in a voice that sounded more like a growl.

"No!" came the husky return and he continued, moving slowly in and out until he felt her relax somewhat. Once the tension seemed to decrease, he allowed himself to quicken the pace and felt her body rise to meet each thrust into her. He wasn't able to last long enough to give her another release before he spilled his seed inside her. It was all he could do not to collapse on top of her. They lay side by side for a few moments, each collecting their breath before Stannis moved to put his arm underneath her shoulders and urge her toward him in an effort to hold her. He wanted to say something, but his ineptness at soft words failed him yet again.

"Your Grace," she started, putting her head on his chest; Stannis was unable to see if she was trying to look at him.

"Yes?"

"I was told that if this night went well for me . . . if it ended without . . . disappointment . . . that it would be because you took great care to make it so. Thank you."

Many things had astonished him this night, but nothing quite as much what she just spoke. While endearing, it seemed silly to make such an intimate statement and preface it by calling him by his honorific. "If you are going to say such, perhaps you should call me Stannis when doing so."

The next sound he heard was small laugh; or rather, he felt it in a series of slight spasms as her body lay against his. It was followed by her cuddling closer. "Good night, Stannis."

"Sleep well, Sansa."

There would be no one in all of the Seven Kingdoms who would believe he had made a young, high-born maiden release and laugh on their wedding night. He would scarcely be surprised if he woke up to find it was the morning of the wedding and that this had all been a dream.


	11. The New Normal

Sansa

After her lady mother left to return to Riverrun two days after her wedding, Queen Sansa's first fortnight was spent establishing a pattern of routines. Some were tried and abandoned while others stuck. Her King did not sleep with her the second night after their marriage, but once Lady Stark was gone, he returned to her bed and had not been absent a night since. By the end of the first sennight, his entry into her bedchamber ceased to be an awkward event, although still not what Sansa expected occurred between a man and wife who were at ease with each other. She learned quickly that Stannis Baratheon could not make small talk. However, he would talk about the more interesting aspects of his day as long as you did not press for details he felt were confidential.

One thing they had in common was their commitment to Shireen's welfare. The King made an effort to join them for supper and on the two nights he did not; he sent her word in time for her to invite Marya and her sons to join them since his absence would similarly mean Davos would not be joining his family. At the Baratheon family suppers, the King was content to let Sansa lead the conversation and focus it on Shireen's day. It left them able to talk about their day when alone together and searching for something to say. The times that warmed Sansa the most were when she would prompt the Princess into telling a story about the part of her day spent studying or playing with the Seaworth boys, for there was always some amusing anecdote and Shireen positively beamed like the sun when her father's mouth would widen slightly at the telling.

During the morning while Maester Pylos was engaged with the Small Council, Sansa and Marya had devised a plan where the two youngest Seaworth boys were sent to watch and learn with the squires in the training yard while the Shireen and Marya joined her for needlework and taking care of items a lady was required to do, such as approving menus. The King has been agreeable to Cersei's dresses being used as the material for clothes and patchwork blankets; Sansa hadn't even needed the argument she had prepared about how it would benefit the people's view of him and his reign. It also gave her a project where she was able to teach the Princess needlework she had, up to this point, never done.

When the boys returned from the training yard, Sansa saw to the lessons for the three children on etiquette and the history of the houses of Westeros. Maester Pylos agreed that she was more knowledgeable in these areas than he. After midday meal, the children left her for their studies with the young maester and Sansa concentrated on her duties as queen, such as winning over the other ladies of the court. To her consternation, few of them were interested in projects that were of benefit to those of lower birth, such as sewing for the orphanage or visiting them. It was something she hoped to change, but she knew better than to press. It took all her might to not fall into the trap of engaging in gossip and playing favorites among the ladies . . . with the exception of Marya, of course.

After supper, Sansa and the King formed a ritual of returning Shireen back to her chambers and seeing her safely inside with her handmaid. Each night, Sansa bent down to embrace the Princess and was hugged tightly in return. At first, the King would only watch and then bid his daughter good night with words. Sansa considered it slow, but steady progress when he began to smooth his daughter's hair as he said his goodnight.

King Stannis would escort his Queen to her apartment after they had bid Shireen goodnight and about an hour later, she would hear a light knock on the door adjoining her bedchamber to his apartment and he would enter. He was always dressed in an undertunic and robe while she had yet to put on the silk nightgown again, favoring the more modest linen ones. Sansa knew this modesty was misplaced as there had been several nights when this gown ended up somewhere on the chamber floor and she slept fully naked in his arms. It was she who established the routine of their sitting on the bed, each telling at least one story from their day, starting with him. She was aware that he studied her as intently as she did him, although she has no idea what he learned. On her part, one thing she picked up on quickly was that he wouldn't begin to touch her until she had smiled or laughed. She wasn't sure why. It left Sansa wondering what would happen if she had a day where there was nothing amusing to tell at the end of it.

He was always gentle and brought her to a release before entering her. She soon felt less inhibited about touching him and she relished the times when he relaxed to the point where his body didn't feel as though it was made of stone. Sansa was never sure at what point of the night or morning the King left her chamber and returned to his room. He held her until she fell asleep and she slept so deeply that she did not wake until the morning to find him gone.


	12. The Favor of Troth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very lighthearted . . . very OOC!

Stannis

After a Small Council meeting, King Stannis watched out of the corner of his eye while Maester Pylos appeared to be studying a parchment on the table in an obvious attempt to wait until everyone else had left the room.

"Yes, Maester Pylos?" Stannis asked looking up that the young man when all but Davos, Pylos, and himself were left.

He cleared his throat and looked as if he had second thoughts about what he was going to say. "Out with it . . . " Stannis harshly insisted.

"Your Grace, have I any specific reason to be teaching Northern customs to the Princess?"

He really hadn't gone to any effort to try to anticipate what the maester was about to say, but were he to have tried, this would not have made the list if he'd have thought on it for hours.

"Why do you ask?"

"Princess Shireen was very adamant that we suspend the lessons planned yesterday to discuss courting rituals in the North. She was particularly interested in The Favor of Troth."

Stannis looked at Davos, who all but shrugged to convey a don't ask me. He turned back to the younger man, "What is The Favor of Troth?"

The young maester truly looked confused now. "It took me hours to find the answer to that myself. It is an ancient custom from the North, seemingly no longer practiced or at least not as a rule. It is the first private meeting between a pair who has been betrothed. If the man offers his arm to the lady and, instead of laying her hand on top of his arm, she goes under the arm and puts her hand back on his arm . . . I believe it was referred to as tucking her arm under his as if putting herself under his protection . . . she is pledging her loyalty and that she considers herself, well, attached to her betrothed. In essence, she is saying she regards him and the match favorably."

"I see." Stannis had years of schooling his expression to hide any reactions that others could draw any inferences from. At this particular time, he required great effort to maintain the previous mask of casual inquiry.

Maester Pylos had obviously picked up on the fact that there was no need for Shireen to learn these customs based on a betrothal in the offing. "Perhaps she read about this custom and was curious, although I am usually aware of what she reads."

Stannis waived his hand to convey a light indifference. "The more likely culprit is a story the Queen told the Princess that aroused her curiosity. I understand ladies, especially younger ones, are far too fond of tales that include such romantic nonsense."

"Yes, Your Grace," the maester agreed. "The custom is ancient and I assumed that, since there are lessons with the Queen, it was brought to me possibly because the age of the custom might have left the Queen unaware of it. Forgive my bringing it up to you."

"You should always bring concerns about the Princess to me," Stannis returned. "Now, if that is all Maester Pylos, I have matters to discuss with Lord Seaworth."

"Thank you, Your Grace," and with that, Maester Pylos made a hasty exit.

Later, as he walked from the council chambers back to Maegor's, Stannis couldn't help but regard what he had learned about The Favor of Troth. He remembered very well the unusual gesture Lady Sansa made of putting her arm between his arm and his body and bring her hand back on his arm as they walked to the edge of the Godswood the day he had told her of their betrothal and several times since. He also remembered Lady Stark looking upon them with surprise when she had taken his arm that way after their wedding feast. Had Sansa considered this a flirtatious gesture? Had she used the gesture as a means of alleviating her mother's fears? She had done it at least once since her lady mother had left King's Landing; did she expect him to understand it as conveying a message? Stannis wished the answer was of no consequence to him, but the truth was, he really wanted to know and the possibility that she meant it as a way of conveying affection gave him hope. But hope, Stannis remembered, was something that seldom worked in his favor.


	13. The Melon Seed

Stannis

Stannis made an effort not to show alarm when he saw one of the young guards assigned to Maegor's Holdfast enter the Small Councill and bend to whisper to Davos while Ser Axell Florent delivered a lengthy harangue on the importance of finding out where the Kingslayer was and what he was up to. His Hand glanced at him, but the look conveyed no sense of urgency. Stannis was supposed to trust the men in this room, but there was no one here, other than Davos, that he truly trusted enough to know that a way to him was through the Queen or the Princess. Showing too much emotion over the intrusion would show such a weakness where they were concerned.

He allowed his former good-uncle to continue for a few minutes longer while thinking of how to interrupt without causing suspicion. However, relief came in the form of his uncle, Ser Lomas Estermont. "Your Grace, while Ser Axell makes an important point, I ask that we might take a break for an hour or so before discussing this further. My bones ache from all this sitting."

Stannis raised an eyebrow at the older gentleman. Fortunately, he was right and it gave him the excuse he was looking for. "Yes, Uncle. As discussions on the Kingslayer often take hours, I could stand to walk around beforehand as well."

As most of the council attendees were making their way out of the Small Council chamber, both his uncle and Davos walked toward him. "Your Grace," Ser Lomas addressed him first, "I will patiently await hearing what news you received from Maegor's."

"I will let you know if there is anything to hear, Uncle." The old gentleman was far shrewder than many assumed.

Once Ser Lomas left them, Stannis turned his full attention to Davos. "What is it?"

"The message was from Marya. As you know, she and the Princess are usually with the Queen this time of day . . . "

Stannis was growing impatient and began to grind his teeth. Davos took the hint. "The message was that Her Grace was visiting Maester Dion because she might have possibly swallowed a melon seed."

"I don't understand!" he growled in return, not at all certain whether the panic he felt was warranted. Had she choked and was all well now?

The corners of Davos' mouth widened. "When one of the younger boys would ask Marya why her stomach was growing, she would tell them she swallowed a melon seed, Sire."

Stomach increasing . . . Was Lady Seaworth saying Sansa was with child? "You said the Queen is with Maester Dion?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

He didn't bother to reply. Both Davos and Ser Rolland followed him in silence as he made his way to the Maester's quarters in Maegar's Holdfast. Ser Aedan stood outside the door and held it open for him when he arrived. No one followed him inside.

From the outer chamber, he could hear Maester Dion's voice in the next room, but not what he said. When he entered the room, the ginger-haired man stopped speaking and bowed to him. Sansa stood from the bench she had been sitting on and curtsied, a shy smile on her face.

"You are well?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

He looked to Maester Dion for confirmation. "There is no other explanation that I can find for her having episodes of being ill other than the obvious one, Your Grace. Her Grace is with child."

Despite the fact that he'd known this was the news he would be receiving, it still hit him as a shock. Stannis looked at his wife, who was positively beaming. There was no fear in her eyes. He, on the other hand, felt a dual sense of fear and loss. Fear because women, even young girls, died in childbirth. And, the sense of loss was from the selfish realization that he found a measure of peace he hadn't known in his adult life in her bed. Stannis was aware it had only a little to do with the act being performed there that had been meant to accomplish this new development. How had he grown so attached to the touch, the smile, the warmth of this woman? Since Sansa was with child, he would have to stay away from her bed. She wouldn't want him there now that the purpose for his being there had been accomplished. Perhaps that was why she was smiling so brightly.

Sansa interrupted his thoughts. "Your Grace, are you not pleased?"

Like Davos, she was learning to read what he knew were only slight variations in his facial expressions. "I am pleased with the news, yet concerned for your person. I did not believe this would occur this soon. You are very young."

"That will work in her favor, Your Grace," the maester spoke up.

"Good," Stannis replied harshly, not at the information, but at the way he interjected himself into a discourse between himself and his queen. "I assume you were giving her instructions when I came in. Is that finished?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Is there anything I should know at this point?"

Maester Dion was oblivious to his displeasure and that was probably a good thing, since it was brought on more by mood than anything else. "No, Sire. Not at this point."

Stannis held out his arm to Sansa. "Then I shall take you back to your apartments, Your Grace."

This time, not only did she take his arm in that odd manner he had been told had significance to Northerners, she met it with her other hand, clasping them so that she was holding his arm. He had to bring his arm closer to his body, bringing her closer, for it not to be awkward. Sansa was unquestionably happy and he would not allow his mood and disappointment that she had become with child so soon spoil it for her. After all, this is why they were married. In the eyes of the rest of the realm, she had taken the first step in accomplishing her primary duty as their queen.

Once outside the door, they found Davos waiting for them with Ser Rolland and Ser Aedan. Davos approached. "She has, indeed, swallowed a melon seed," Stannis said wryly. Sansa seemed to understand this, for she laughed and, if possible, smiled all the more.

"My congratulations to you both, Your Grace." Davos said. He was smiling just as much as Sansa.

"I will meet you back in the Small Counsel chambers upon the hour. Use whatever excuse you see fit for my absence if they are all assembled before I return, but do not tell them until I am present."

"Yes, Your Grace." Davos bowed and departed.

With both Ser Rolland and Ser Aedan following at a discrete pace behind them, Sansa immediately began with plans. "I know you must tell the Small Counsel immediately, but I was hoping we could go to Shireen first. I'm sure, after my display this morning, that she is aware of what the nature of my illness signifies." She paused, seemingly to discern how to phrase what came next. "Stannis, she will try to hide it, but she will probably be fragile at the news that she will soon not be your only child. We will both need to reassure her of our affection; however, she will need to know it from you the most."

Stannis wanted to laugh, but as usual, it came out like a grimace. "She is not used to displays of affection from me."

The hands clasped on his arm were briefly tightened in what he assumed was meant to punctuate her words. "Yes, she is. It is so subtle; I didn't recognize it at first and thought you were cold to her."

"Then," he stated flatly, "If it has been there for her to see, she will see no difference now."

This brought another light laugh from his queen. "I suppose so. Still, please . . . may we tell her together before you go back to counsel?"

"As you wish."


	14. The Concern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that, due to the HBO show, some fan fic writers portray Davos as older than Stannis. This doesn't seem to be the case in the books, although I don't think Davos' age is told. Also, Liam Cunningham isn't older than Stephen Dillane. Cunningham has more rugged features and is going for that weather-worn look (he's letting his gray show while Dillane isn't) – by the way, MAJOR LEAGUE Cunningham fan here. So, I'm going with Davos being younger.

Marya

Marya watched appreciatively as her husband pulled off his clothes to climb into bed with her. To those who did not know better, Davos appeared older than his king. King Stannis had been at sea often, yes, but before he was in Stannis' service, Davos spent most of his life on the sea and in the harsh sun. The lines on his face were more deeply etched because of it. For all that, the body was of a man in his prime. A man who had sired seven sons and could yet put another in her belly. She, too, showed age she did not possess when compared to the ladies of the court. Marya had the title of a lady and she did her best to comport herself as such, but in her own mind, she was still a girl from Flea Bottom. A girl who adored her dashing smuggler bad boy who, despite that, was truly the noblest man she knew.

Davos pulled her to him after he lay down beside her. Without words, she knew this was not a night where that unborn child she'd just been thinking of would be created. He was troubled and, in his own good time, he would tell her as much as he could about why. They lay in silence, snuggling close for the better part of half an hour without sleep. "Can you tell me?" she asked, "Have you received news on the whereabouts of Jaime Lannister and the woman warrior believed to be traveling with him?"

"No, and that is, indeed, troubling."

"But not what troubles you most and keeps you from your sleep?"

Davos fidgeted a little. She knew that he knew she was coaxing him and was deciding whether to allow her to do so. It was their way. "It's Stannis. Something is not right with him. It isn't the pressures of being king. They are weighty, but he was born to it. It's something else."

"That's interesting," Marya replied. "The same could be said for Queen Sansa. She is not herself either, and certainly not sleeping as she should. The first few moons, you remember how I slept like a log, as did all my sisters when they had a babe. I asked her to go to see Maester Dion about it and she said there was nothing he could do for her. When I tried to question her more, she shut like a clam."

Davos turned on his side and she complied so they were facing each other in their bed. "You should tell me when there is something amiss with the Queen!" His whispered exclamation came out like a hiss.

"I will not spy on Sansa for you, My Love. I tell you this now because it's possibly relevant to what troubles the King."

Confusion reigned in Davos' voice. "I don't remember him being like this when Lady Selyse was carrying Shireen. Not knowing . . . not knowing how to help him . . . I don't like it. He'd never ask for my help, except in matters of the realm. Usually, he doesn't have to ask . . . I know what's eating him and how to deal with it."

Marya smoothed the back of her fingers across his furrowed brow. "That is why he named you Hand."

"Yet, I fail him now."

"You cannot take all blows for him. I do not want you to. If it isn't a matter of state and since Queen Sansa shows signs of distress, I would say the trouble is in their marriage. Surely that isn't a surprise."

Davos let out a deep sigh. "Since the news of her being with child, he is back to arriving at the Small Council early and staying late. It is as if things are back to normal, yet not normal."

"Ah!" Marya was beginning to put this all together. "You did not tell me his routine had changed after their marriage, but I should have known. He was letting you have supper almost every night with us. And now, it has returned to as it was before they were married?"

"Yes," he affirmed. "And yet, not exactly. He's not as he was then. On matters of the realm, he is as he ever was. There's just . . . maybe this is all in my imagination."

"I think not," Marya countered, still forming thoughts in her mind. "I remember being concerned about her looking as if she had little rest before they were married, but not after. I contributed it to the anxiousness about the future and then the marriage, and that once resolved and no longer a mystery, she was able to sleep again. Now, she is almost as she was before."

There was more silence as they both looked at each other and processed the clues they had before them. "Oh, my!" Marya giggled, "I know what it is!"

"Then would you please tell me, Woman?"

"He isn't coming to her bed. No . . . our king would think she wouldn't want him there after he has done his duty and put a babe in her belly! But she does want him there and she can't sleep because he isn't . . . and he wants to be there."

Davos laughed heartily. "I do love the romantic side of you, Sweetling. This is Stannis Baratheon we are talking about. He is protective of her and I even think he appreciates her in a way he did not his late wife, but want to be with her to the point where it affects his person? No!"

She continued with her giggling laugh. "Mark my words, Hand of the King. His trouble lies with his not bedding down with his queen."

Rolling his eyes as he rolled to lie on his back again, Davos scoffed at her assumptions. "The Queen is sweet-natured, but I think you exaggerate her feelings as well. They have been married for a little over a moon, and barely saw each other at all before that. She has not had time to form the attachment you speak of if a woman can form such an attachment to the King."

"There are several things wrong with your theory. It may not have been so for you, but I was attached to you the moment you winked at me the first time we met. The second thing I take issue with is your assertion that no woman can form an attachment to King Stannis. Sansa is just the type of woman to find affection for him, given that much of what I have heard about her late father seems similar in nature. Those who are drawn to him are drawn inexplicably so. Look at you! He cut off your fingers and you are his most devoted brother."

Moving to lay her head back on his shoulder, she enjoyed the warmth of his body as he pulled her close again. "I don't think you can help our King in this matter, My Love. "

"If you are right, and while I cannot fathom it, you generally are right when it comes to this sort of thing . . . no, I cannot help him."

As drowsiness began to set in, the last conscious thought Marya Seaworth had been that the only help for both her sovereigns was for Sansa to make him see that he was welcome to be with her, even when duty was no longer involved. She might need some motherly advice in order to accomplish that.


	15. The Other Marriage

Sansa

Marya had suggested she seduce her husband. She had witnessed other women accomplishing this often enough, but it was another thing to actually do it and even more difficult to consider how to seduce Stannis Baratheon. Maester Dion had already told her that nothing need change for them because of the baby until she was closer to the time of birth. Be that as it may, change had come. Without a word of explanation or discussion on the matter, Stannis stopped coming to her bedchamber. She wasn't surprised by this. He had done his duty as he saw it, and was done with her for a while. Only Marya intimated that may not be the way of, yet he may believe that was how she felt. She did not want him to think she regarded him thus.

However, if he did feel he had done his duty and could now sleep alone in peace, she did not want to disturb him. It hurt that he may have so little regard for the nights they spent together. They never spoke on such things, so it was merely an assumption on her part that when he spilled his seed in her, he was experiencing the same pleasure as she did when she released. It was only a guess, but she considered it a somewhat educated one. Men certainly sought and even paid for women for that purpose. If not, Lord Petyr Baelish would not have been one of the wealthiest men in Westeros.

Sansa was still pondering whether she could lure Stannis into her bed that night, and how she might go about it during the time she spent alone before Shireen, and possibly the King, would join her for supper. So deep was she in thought that she jumped at the loud knock on the solar door. Such a forceful knock was usually Ser Aedan. "Come," she called.

Ser Aedan bowed upon entering. After they were married, Stannis had suggested that she might desire having a sworn shield instead of one of his men to protect her. While not so in reality, in her mind there was only one "sworn shield" and The Hound was no longer in King's Landing. "Good evening, Ser Aedan." She had already inquired of the health of his newborn son

"Good evening, Your Grace. One of Lord Seaworth's men asked me to tell you that Princess Shireen will be dining with Lady Seaworth this evening and to ask if you would take your supper with His Grace and Lord Seaworth in the Small Council chambers."

"Thank you, Ser Aedan. I will be ready to walk with you shortly." He left her and she rose to smooth her hair and check her appearance in the looking glass. Something was afoot and she felt a sense of urgency in the request. She opened the door and found Ser Aedan waiting.

The young knight treated her with stories of his son during the walk to the Small Council, making the walk seem short. He announced her and departed, leaving her with her husband and his Hand. Both men looked tired and Stannis merely nodded in acknowledgement while Davos stood with a bow and then held out a chair for her across from the King.

"I take it something has happened?"

"Yes," Stannis said sharply, the nature of his scowl showing both scorn and worry. "We have received a raven that your brother has married."

Why would this cause alarm? "We knew that was to be, Your Grace. You yourself were the first to tell me of his betrothal to one of Lord Frey's daughters."

"Exactly," Stannis flew back angrily. "Only he did not marry a Frey. He broke his word and married Jeyne . . .what is her name, Davos?"

"Jeyne Westerling," Davos supplied, not bothering to hide his displeasure at the tone Stannis was using.

"Oh," Sansa muttered in shock. "I see."

"Do you?" he returned. "I have enough to worry about with not knowing where the Kingslayer is and what he is about, or if he will have the full support of the Tyrell's when he does make his play, or what the Martells are plotting and planning . . . I expected better from your brother!"

So this is what happens when caution is thrown to the wind and one marries for love, for the only reason Sansa could imagine for Robb to marry and sully the value of his word once given was for a love he couldn't live without. She agreed that Robb had created a situation, and one Stannis didn't need right now, but bringing her here to answer for Robb was too close to Joffrey's way of doing business and it made her heart pound in her ears. Stannis would not hurt her; Davos was not here to beat her when he wouldn't. Still, she would not allow this.

"I . . . Will . . . Not . . . answer for my brother, Your Grace," she said, hearing the steel in her voice. "If you are displeased with him, I suggest you send a strongly worded raven back to Riverrun telling him so."

Out of the corner of her right eye, she saw Davos look down and his mouth widen. She also saw that the gesture was not hidden from Stannis. He accepted her words and Davos' reaction as chastisement, but only to a point. "You are not here to answer for your brother. You are here to assist in advising me on how to keep this from becoming an incident that plunges us back into a war."

"It's possible," Davos interjected diplomatically, "that Lord Frey is not unhappy with this turn of events. Lord Stark was called King Stark at the time the match was made. Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but your brother is presently a lord without a home of his own. Perhaps he had Lord Frey's consent to back out and it was omitted from the raven."

"No," Sansa reasoned, not taking offense for what he spoke was true. The Starks have no home at present. "Lord Frey may not be as pleased with the match, but he has always felt that the Starks and Tullys looked down on him. He will see this as yet another slight."

"How many sons have Frey?" Davos asked.

Sansa tried to recall, "The number of legitimate sons would number in the twenties, and who knows how many illegitimate ones."

"Absolutely NOT!" Stannis roared. Whatever contrition that had previously calmed him a bit was now gone. Sansa could not follow what Davos was leading to that received such a strenuous objection.

Davos accepted his king's decree against whatever it was, but Sansa's curiosity got the better of her. "I don't understand. What were you proposing?"

"He was proposing that Shireen be sacrificed to a Frey as a way out of this mess!"

Sansa found herself nonplussed by the return of her husband's anger. "My lady mother spoke of Olyvar Frey as a decent young man. She spoke of him in a way that suggested he was not natured like his father or most of his brothers. He squired for Robb and Mother said Robb was fond of him."

Stannis stood, laying both hands on the table and leaned toward her. "Did you not hear me? NO!"

Again, she was not frightened. "Yes, I heard you and I agree that she is not to be sacrificed to anyone. My thought was that Olyvar Frey, given what I have heard of him, may be an opportunity."

There was no doubt this angered him further. "An opportunity?"

"Possibly," she asserted. "I have always assumed you had not secured a betrothal for Shireen because you were determining the best political marriage for her. You are either going to sacrifice her to ally with the Martells or the Tyrells, are you not?"

She hadn't thought he could grow more enraged, but he did. "That is not my intent."

Sansa was pleased to hear it, despite the worrying sight of the blood vessels engorging on his neck. "I am pleased. My sincerest wish is for an attachment to form a few years from now between the Princess and Devan. One would only promote such a match if true feelings were involved, although they may view it as incestuous since they have been raised as close as siblings."

Davos nodded to her at this, accepting her words as a compliment to his family. This also seemed to cool Stannis' anger somewhat for he sat back down. However, his teeth were grinding so loud she could barely think. All conversation stopped when trays with roasted lamb and vegetables were brought in for supper.

After the servants left the room, Sansa watched as Stannis picked up a fork and moved a parsnip around on his plate. It was endearing. She had seen Shireen do this very thing when deep in thought.

Davos, ever the voice of reason, spoke the truth of the matter. "The King is correct, Your Grace. This particular son of Walder Frey's could be the most worthy young man in Westeros, but the first-born daughter of a king is not wasted on House Frey." He paused to smile at her to convey his appreciation that she had considered his son, "nor on House Seaworth. Not to mention how the Princess may view being married to a lesser house."

"We are still left with no good ideas on how to resolve this issue Lord Stark has put before us," Stannis' tone could only be described as a sulk. "I want to lead the Small Council tomorrow, not listen to them prevaricate on the matter."

Sansa sighed and said words she hated hearing herself say. "No matter what is done in King's Landing, my brother made this mess and only he can get himself out of it. I shall pray fervently for his safety and that a peaceful resolution can be brought about."

They ate in silence, after which Stannis escorted her back to Maegor's, going straight to the Princesses chamber to check on her and then depositing her at the front of her apartment. She remembered that, before the call to join him to discuss recent events, she had been contemplating how to seduce him back to her bed. Despite the angry words spoken earlier, she wanted the comfort he could bring her, but she could not ask for it. This would be another sleepless night with many more to come.


	16. The Red Redux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempts at strategy undoubtedly leave a lot to be desired – apologies.

Stannis

The news of Lord Stark's ill-conceived marriage was soon followed with word that a marriage had been arranged between his uncle, Edmure Tully, and a Frey daughter in compensation. While he would not say it to Sansa, his respect for the Stark boy had diminished a great deal. He had no trouble arranging a marriage for his sister to a man much older than her and known to be no great lover. Now, to make up to the Freys for his not keeping his promise of marriage, his uncle was thrown into Walder Frey's lair. Stannis found it interesting that no one seemed to feel the need to delineate which Frey daughter was being considered as if they were all the same.

Davos was dubious that Edmure Tully would truly smooth over the slight. Stannis agreed that an honorable man would not be so easy to have such an insult to his family and his daughter, whichever one was to have been married to Lord Stark, assuaged. The trouble was there was no one in all of Westeros who would claim Walder Frey as an honorable man. The idea that his accepting Edmure Tully for a daughter would be the end of it was short sighted. The real question was what was he planning in retaliation?

That news came a sennight later with the return of Tyrion Lannister to King's Landing. Stannis granted an audience to Lord Tyrion in the Small Council chambers rather than the Throne Room with Davos, Maester Pylos, Ser Lomas, and Ser Axell in attendance. While not his usual practice, Stannis wore his crown to ensure that, despite not receiving Tyrion while seated on the Iron Throne, he knew who the king of the Seven Kingdoms was.

"What brings you here without invitation, Lord Tyrion?"

The Imp bowed, and smiled that knowing smile Stannis had seen often while Robert was king and he rose up. "I came to take my nephew home to Casterley Rock, Your Grace."

His nephew had been left to the care of his cousin, Ser Andrew Estermont. Ser Andrew reported that the boy was, by turns, sullen and mournful of his mother and enjoying the freedom not having an abusive brother and cautious mother gave him in pursuing riding and training in the yards. It had been Davos' idea to ensure the lad had as good a time as security and decency would allow so he would think well of this time and report he was well treated. The Queen often visited the boy, but Stannis would not allow Shireen to go along.

"I was not aware we had come to terms on that subject."

The Imp shrugged. "I believe, when you hear what news I have, we will come to terms." The arrogance of the little man annoyed him.

"What is of such interest that you believe we would part with the only protection the realm may have against another rebellion at the hands of your brother?"

Tyrion made a face to go with a shrug. "Yes, my nephew is a valuable little boy. On the other hand, you may consider Lord Stark a value big boy. At least your wife may consider him as such. How is the Queen? When I last saw her, she had no idea of her fate."

Stannis leaned forward menacingly, "Say what you're here to say, Lannister."

"I'm here to say that I know what Walder Frey is planning as his revenge. He asked for my assistance with his plan. I will not give it as I have given you my word that I will be a model subject. Even if I had not, it is such a foul . . . well, the plan has the same stench as Walder Frey's aging flesh. However, it has a bit of cunning Frey is not capable of on his own and that is what should be your concern, Sire."

"Roose Bolton," Davos spoke up. "If Frey has a plan worth having, it was given to him by one such as Bolton."

Lord Tyrion did not affirm or deny. Davos could be right, but if Tyrion wasn't complicit, there was the possibility his Uncle Kevan was involved and, possibly, the architect. Kevan Lannister was no Tywin, but he still worth keeping a wary eye on.

Ser Axell Florent wasted no time making his opinion known. "The Stark alliance has been of little advantage to you, Your Grace. He hasn't even been able to take back his own lands and seat. Thwarting a plot he brought on himself is not worth giving up the Lannister boy."

This was an expected response from Florent. Anything that was of benefit to the Starks, he opposed. It rankled him that Queen Sansa found favor from so many in such a short time in a way his niece had never and would never have realized. Stannis allowed him a bit of ground in his attitude, if only out of guilt that he was not more defensive of the memory of his late wife. There was also the fact that, from a political standpoint, Ser Axell was correct. Lord Stark was not a strong enough ally to risk war for.

"Have you any response to that?" he asked Lord Tyrion, ignoring the tightening of Davos' jaw.

"I see pleasing your queen is not reason enough to tempt you," Tyrion countered. "Then I will give you a strategic reason, Your Grace. Let's say Frey's plan succeeds and Lord Stark is no more. It's even possible he could gain Riverrun in this plan. Regardless of whether I give aid or not, Frey and his accomplices will seek to ally themselves with my uncle Kevan in the hope of my brother's return. Right now, Lannister forces are not strong enough for rebellion, and partly because of a sound defeat at the hands of this Lord and his army that you say is not worth protecting. If you do not support Stark, you will give his bannermen a solid reason to ally with my uncle, if only to avoid an alliance with Ramsey Snow. Stark bannermen will not be happy to learn you could have prevented any action that may cost them their sons, and being married to Queen Sansa will not matter. Jaime would then come home with enough of an army to march on King's Landing in hopes of securing his son."

Stannis could not deny the sense in what he said, but he certainly doubted Tyrion's motives. "If I came to you with this when you were in power here, would you not find it suspicious that you were planning against your house and a brother you are reputed to have no dispute with?"

Lord Tyrion merely smirked. "It is true I have great affection for my brother. That is not something anyone would have accused you of, Your Grace. And yet, you tried more than anyone to protect King Robert from his own worst enemy . . . himself . . . on more than one occasion. You did it for the good of the realm and the legacy of your family name. I am here to do the same. Kevan will settle for having Tommen back and seeking to rebuild our house and family fortune. I may not be able to stop my brother. Jaime may still come to King's Landing with what little army we could muster and he will gain sellswords along the way, but his cause will be weakened and Stark's army intact in the North may make him see the sense of staying put. He will not see such sense if you have his son."

Stannis sat back and waited for the rest of those present to digest all they had heard. He didn't like the Imp, but he knew him for a good strategist and one who preferred peace in the realm.

"This plot you speak of," Davos began, "Can it be thwarted in such a way that Frey and accomplices can be tried as traitors?"

"Yes," Tyrion asserted without hesitation.

With that, Stannis convened all of the Small Council, as well as other advisors and, after much discussion, it was decided that Tommen would leave with Lord Tyrion if he had proof of the plot. It was several hours before Stannis learned what the workings of this plot were, and it sickened him to the core. It violated the guest right, an act considered by most of the nobles of Westeros as sacred. Tyrion's proof was thin – a message sent by raven with minor details that, taken on face value, said little. But by the end of the day, no one seriously believed Tyrion Lannister told anything other than the truth. Walder Frey was depraved enough to pull off such a stunt and Roose Bolton was cunning and ruthless enough to have devised it.

It was close to midnight when all was concluded, with a raven sent to Lord Stark and messengers were dispatched in different directions sent to ensure receipt should the raven be intercepted. The raven, as well as the messengers, gave Lord Stark his blessing to take care of Lord Frey, however, he saw fit and strongly suggested he execute Roose Bolton for treason.

Returning to his apartments, Stannis did what he had done more nights than he cared to count. He changed into his nightshirt and walked, as quietly as possible, down the dark corridor to the door to Sansa's bedchamber. He stood there quietly listening, not sure what for. It wasn't like she was aware he was there to invite him in. King Stannis First of his name; King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men; and Protector of the Realm . . . he could open this door when he told himself it was his duty to do so, but not when his only reason was because he wanted to.


	17. The Raven

Sansa

Sansa knew Stannis was not pleased with her eldest brother for putting him in a position where he had to give up Tommen. Still, there was relative calm after Lord Tyrion and Tommen departed King's Landing. For the most part, Sansa only saw her husband at supper, where he was polite, for Stannis, but not at all engaged in any conversations Shireen and she tried to include him in beyond inquiries he made about their health. She was aware he had requested Maester Dion gave him regular reports on the health of his wife, daughter, and unborn child; it made the poor maester nervous for there was only so much he could know in advance of the child being born.

Sleep was still a problem for her. Her sleeplessness was not the problem it had been when Joffrey was on the Iron Throne. She was able to sleep for short periods, usually waking several times during the night and taking hours to get back to sleep. It was not the peaceful slumber she had experienced in the arms of her husband. As she had explained to Marya, she couldn't easily enlighten King Stannis why this was so when she didn't know herself. What Sansa did know was his staying away from her and polite treatment made her sad. Marya warned her the babe would feel her sadness, so she made an effort to think cheerful thoughts and spend her time engaged in things she enjoyed, like sewing clothes for the orphans and finding ways to provide for the abundant need of the orphanage. Somehow, she had made it fashionable for a lady of the court to make or have made, a piece of clothing from the cast-off clothes of her household. They went to great lengths to make whatever came from them visible, such as making a tunic with their house sigil embroidered on it. Sansa knew this to be ostentatious, if not ridiculous, but if it was what it took to get them to participate in providing the badly needed clothing, she would only praise their efforts.

Marya and Shireen were with her in the solar reviewing menus and discussing options for celebrating Davos' impending nameday when they were surprised by the arrival of the King. Panic gripped Sansa immediately as he looked tired when it was barely mid-morning. Something else was wrong and as she rose from her curtsy, she saw the concern on Shireen's face. Looking back at her husband, she realized what else out of place. There was no scowl.

"I have good news, Your Grace," he said wanly. "Your sister is back with your lady mother."

Sansa would have smiled and began to celebrate such excellent news had his reaction not led her to believe there was much she was missing. "Is she well?"

"The raven does not say otherwise," he answered.

There was something he wasn't telling her and everyone in the room knew it as was evident by both Marya and Shireen curtsying with Marya making a polite excuse of needing a walk and asking the Princess to join her. When she approached her father, Shireen stopped and touched her father's arm. Stannis smiled at her, genuinely smiled, and it cause alarm to all three women. "Enjoy your walk," he told her softly. "I will see you again at supper."

When her companions had departed, she invited her husband to sit, but he declined. "I cannot stay long. I have dismissed the Small Council for an hour so that I could relay the news."

"Yet you are not telling me everything."

He sighed, looking . . . resigned? "You will also be heartened to learn her rescuer, your champion The Hound, is also well and now at Riverrun. I have been asked to grant him pardon so that he can join Lord Stark's forces."

Was that the problem? Did he find granting this pardon so objectionable? She had never elaborated on the point; he had never asked, but she was certain she had told him that The Hound had saved her life and risked the dissatisfaction of both Joffrey and Cersei in doing so.

Sansa tried to be slow to anger and hear any reason he may have. "I take it you do not wish to grant this pardon."

"I will grant the pardon," came Stannis' unexpected reply. "He has served you well, and wishes to continue to do so."

The last part of his statement confused her. "You mean he wishes to serve Robb."

"Of course . . . I will leave you to your day." Stannis turned to leave and then stopped and spoke without looking back at her. "Sansa . . . I cannot allow you to go to Riverrun while he is there."

Was that what this was about? Did he believe she wanted to run to Riverrun into the arms of The Hound? She had never allowed herself to define the relationship between herself and Sandor Clegane, yet her husband seemed to have a very specific definition of it. It was true that the first time she felt excitement around a man was with him, versus a giggling sort of girlish reaction to the flirtation of boys. It was also true that she knew The Hound would have given his life for her if he believed doing so would have truly released her from harm rather than just put it off for a short time. She also knew no harm would come to her while Stannis Baratheon drew breath and she knew she longed for him now in a way she hadn't thought possible before the night of their wedding.

"Your Grace, I am _Your_ wife, _Your_ queen, and the mother of _Your_ next child with hopefully more children to come. You need not fear my loyalty to you in any way." Sansa moved closer to him but stopped short of touching him. "You may care only for my loyalty, but I wish you cared about my feelings for you."

"Obviously I must care," Stannis choked out. "Otherwise, I would not feel like such a jealous ass."

Sansa's heart sang. He was jealous! This wasn't only about protecting what was his or his reputation as king. She leaned closer still until her lips were against his ear. "I would suggest you have Ser Rolland send word to the members of your council with your apologies that an urgent family matter will detain you for several hours," she whispered softly.

Turning to face her, Stannis started to lay a hand on her rounded belly but stopped himself. "What is this urgent family matter?"

Sansa didn't know whether to roll her eyes at his being obtuse or cry because she lacked skill in the art of seduction. If she had to be blunt, well then . . . she would be blunt. Reaching for his hand, she entwined her fingers in his. "You are taking me to bed, Your Grace. We need to remind each other who we belong to."

An eyebrow raised and the scowl returned, "It is yet morning!"

She was relieved to see the familiar scowl. "Be that as it may, I am your family and I am a matter that needs attending to. Now."

Stannis let out a sigh she thought sounded like a sigh of relief rather than of exasperation, or she thought that until he let go of her hand and wordlessly walked away from her. Sansa's heart sank as she watched him leave. Had he not just come as close as Stannis Baratheon was capable of in declaring he had affection for her? Had he not gone beyond what she thought him capable of? Tears began to pool in her eyes and she reached into her sleeve for her kerchief when she heard him speak to Ser Rolland in the outer room. He was doing exactly what she had asked him to do in sending word to his council that he would not soon return.

She greeted his reappearance with a shy smile and continued her attempted seduction by wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his head down until their lips met. The hunger and desire she found there was unlike anything she had felt from him before, and she returned it in equal measure. For a moment, she thought they were going to forego moving to the bedchamber and she found she would not have minded. However, Stannis had quickly developed a plan of his own. With her arms still around his neck, he bent and lifted her, carrying her toward the bedchamber.

Before he learned she was with child, they had often ended the night completely naked, but this was the first time he had removed her clothing. Sansa's apprehension about how she looked to him, especially with the fullness of her belly, grew less and less with each kiss and caress as he carefully removed each item. It was also the first time she had found release with him inside her. Undoubtedly, Ser Rolland had proved himself adept at keeping everyone away for they were able to lay together until midday, talking and touching. "I thought you regarded being with me as a duty that had been accomplished," Sansa admitted, her chin perched on his chest and her Tully blue eyes trained on him. "I waited and hoped for you to come to me each night."

"I want to believe you," Stannis acknowledged, stroking her hair absently. "I do not mean that you are lying to me; I know you believe what you say is true. What I cannot understand is how it could possibly be true."

"It does defy all rationality," she teased, "but it is so and you will have to accept it as a fact you cannot explain."

Neither one of them claimed to love the other. Indeed, Sansa was not entirely sure whether her feelings for him qualified as love although she suspected as much. It did not consume her as she had believed true love would. Then again, she had formed such an assumption from songs that she now knew to be tales of pretty fantasy. Maybe this desire to be held by him, to feel him inside her, to try to make him smile, to have his approval, and a dozen other little things added up to being love. Right now, she was in too much of a state of bliss to examine it further.


	18. The Name Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to be light, fluffy, OCC, and the created names slightly out there.

Shireen

Long before he appeared that morning in Sansa's solar, Shireen had found reasons to be concerned for her father. There had been a slight change in his manner after the wedding. This one she found to her liking. He seemed more at ease and smiled at her more. Of course, those smiles seldom changed the set of his mouth; you had to look for it in his eyes. There was another change after the announcement that he was to be a father yet again. Like the other, this change would not be recognized by those who did not make a study of him. Shireen assumed her Uncle Davos was aware of it and that Sansa was too. What she was less sure of was what meaning it had. To explain it simply, her father had always been sad, then he ceased to be as sad, and then he was . . . sadder. Now, whatever was the work of the day she and her lady aunt left her father and Sansa together to talk of Lady Arya's return to Rivverrun, he was back to being less sad. In fact, she would say he was far less sad. The frown he always wore was ever present, but his eyes had a light that was solely for Sansa or her. Shireen missed her mother more than she imagined she would, but given that her mother was gone, she was thankful that Sansa was now Sansa Baratheon.

Sennights passed and she watched with increasing awe as her sibling grew inside Sansa. Shireen felt guilty for the occasional bout of jealousy – not because this child, if a boy, would eclipse her in the eyes of many as the heir, but because being with child made Sansa all the more beautiful. She skin glowed and her eyes shined. No one would ever use the word "beautiful" about her, just as she doubted it was ever used by anyone regarding her mother. Sansa made efforts on her behalf. Now that her hair was longer, her step-mother created a style that hid much of her greyscale and covered her ears. Step-mother . . . Sansa had said they should think of each other as sisters because of their close age, but Sansa did give her the attention of a mother, more than she had received from the one who bore her.

Sansa was only two moons away from the birth of the child when Shireen inquired during a supper when all three were present whether a name had been selected for her brother or sister. She addressed the question to both her father and Sansa, though she expected Sansa would be the one to answer. However, Sansa seemed to wait for a response from her husband before trying to coax one out of him. "The father, at least among the nobility, usually decides on the name of a son."

It got the desired, although disinterested, result. "I have not considered the matter. There is time yet."

"Everyone assumes you will name him Steffon after my grandsire," Shireen noted. "We are considering short names for him."

Her father winced, dropping his fork back onto his plate for emphasis. "I absolutely forbid you to call him a name like the one used for Stannis Seaworth!" Both ladies smiled at the fact that he couldn't bring himself to utter the name 'Stanny'.

"When you say 'everyone,' do you mean Steffon and Stannis?" Sansa asked, toning down her amusement.

Shireen knew she had been caught out in her exaggeration. "Steffon is quite pleased he will share a name with a future king."

"It has not been decided," her father announced firmly. "While the most logical name would be my father's, there are other names to consider."

"May I ask what other names you have in mind," Sansa asked, showing surprise at his revelation.

"Eddard, for one."

Shireen found that odd, while she couldn't say as much. From what she thought she knew, her father had not been overly fond of the late Lord Stark. She had heard him rail at how Lord Stark had again been treated as a trusted brother while he had been cast aside when her uncle, King Robert, had gone on a long trip to seek Eddard Stark from Winterfell to return his Hand.

Sansa smiled sweetly at her husband; Shireen could even call it adoringly. "Thank you for such consideration. I would be very proud if you agreed to name a second son after my lord father. But a Baratheon king should bear the name of a Baratheon forefather."

Her response provoked one of those moments where her father's eyes lit with a smile while his mouth retained its frown. "What about a sister?" Shireen continued with the conversation. "Is that up to Father as well?"

"No," the King replied quickly. "In this area, I defer."

Shireen turned her attention to her step-mother. "Have you a name selected?"

"Actually," Sansa said, "I was going to ask if you would like to choose a name should you have a sister."

Shireen could barely contain her excitement, looking hopefully at her father to see if he would allow this. "I leave it to the two of you, only beg she not be given a name that some ridiculous short name can be fashioned from."

"The name would have to start with a C and then an A," she reasoned excitedly. "It is interesting that both her grandmothers' names start with the C and A."

"That is true; I had not thought of it!" Sansa rejoined with enthusiasm. "What other names start with those letters?"

"We should fashion one just for her. A combination of the names, perhaps?" Shireen thought about it for a moment, "Catana . . . Casselyn." Then, she smiled sheepishly, "Careen."

Both females laughed before her father interrupted firmly. "Catana would become Cat . . . I am not fond of cats."

Everyone at the table knew cats had served as food for him during the Siege of Storm's End. A name that could be shortened to Cat would be the subject of ridicule. "So . . . " Sansa said diplomatically, "I'm afraid Catana is not a consideration, although I find it quite lovely. You have time yet to decide. For myself, of your creations thus far, I am fondest of Careen. Such a name would reflect on both of her grandmothers and her sister."

Those in the realm who bothered to give it a thought wanted her step-mother to be carrying a son and heir. Shireen would have been among them until Sansa gave her the honor of naming a sister. Now, she fervently hoped there was a little girl inside Sansa Baratheon's belly.


	19. The Heir Who's Black of Hair

Stannis

Late night conversations as her time drew nearer had Stannis trying to reassure his wife that he would not be disappointed if she gave birth to a daughter instead of a son and heir. It was not his nature to note differences in people, but as best he could remember, Sansa had been far less erratic in her behavior than Selyse had been when she carried Shireen. That was, until the past fortnight when tears came easily. For the first time since their marriage, she requested he sleep in his own bedchamber, saying she was afraid her water might break while he was beside her. Stannis had to admit it was an unpleasant thought. Still, he wanted to be there as much as he could for her and insisted he sleep in the chair next to the bed. He had slept in far worse places before battles.

Sansa's labor did start in the middle of the night. He awoke at the sound of an intake of breath as she tried to quietly endure a spasm of pain. "How long?" was his first question.

"I am not sure. I have no candle burning to go by," she answered. "The pains are still far apart."

Stannis rose, trying not to let his panic show as his eyes adjusted to the darkness to enable him to light a candle. "I will send for Maester Dion. Would you like to have Lady Seaworth with you, as well?"

She smiled at him to try to assure him she was alright. "It is not yet time to involve them. I wish you would sleep longer."

Just as she had learned to read his scowls, he had learned how to read her smiles. This smile was weak and was trying to be brave. "You are the queen of the realm and are giving birth to either a prince or princess. You should be attended to."

"Thank you, My Love. There is little any of us can do for the present, but wait for our child to decide to arrive. We are in for a long day."

My Love - had she ever addressed him thus? Stannis was certain he would have paid heed if she had, but now was not the time to dwell on such things. He needed to act, despite her protestations. Sansa didn't stop him when he dressed and left her bedchamber. The member of the King's Guard on duty this evening was Ser Lambert. Stannis instructed him to send first for Maester Dion and for Lady Marya. He thought about waking Shireen, but decided that would wait until morning if Sansa was correct and the birth would be later in the day.

Stannis returned to find Sansa reacting to another pain. He felt helpless and began grinding his teeth in frustration. When her contraction stopped, Sansa reached out for his hand and he took it. He let her pull him toward her and sat beside her on the bed. "I know it grieves you to see those you care for in any sort of pain. I am sure it is true that, once done, I will scarcely remember it."

This acknowledgment of his regard mollified him somewhat. "The maester and Marya will be upon us shortly. Before they arrive, is there any accommodation I can make to ease . . . this?"

She laid her head on his shoulder and brought their entwined hands up to her lips, kissing the back of his hand. "This is my duty, Stannis. Yours will be NOT to bite the head off of everyone who tries to accommodate you today or grind your teeth into powder while you wait. I have asked Shireen to travel from here to the Map Room to give you reports; she so wanted something important to do."

"I will be glad of news from any quarter," he asserted. Stannis felt a surge of fear as he looked into those Tully blue eyes. It was not unusual for the healthiest of women to have complications and die in childbirth. In such a short time, he had grown used to her. Life without his queen was not something he wanted to think about. "Sansa," he began quietly as if there was someone else nearby who might overhear his confession. "You do know . . . I want you to know . . . "

"I know," she whispered back to him, sparing him the words. "It is the same for me."

They sat in silence, her head still on his shoulder and hands joined until Ser Lambert knocked on the door heralding the arrival of Maester Dion. Sansa raised her head and they let go of each other's hands, allowing Stannis to stand before he called out, "Enter."

Soon, Marya had joined them and informed him that Davos was in the Map Room. Although it was the small hours of the morning, he could hear commotion through the outer door as he stepped into the next room to allow the maester to examine Sansa. Unquestionably, the news was out in Maegar's that the time had come. Shireen would be upset if she was not made part of this soon and he needed employment, so he took this time to go wake her. Ser Lambert followed him down the corridor where Shireen's handmaid, who slept in her chambers, was already awake and waiting.

The handmaid curtsied. "I will awaken the Princess and get her ready at once, Sire."

"No. I will wake her. You will attend her and see that she is escorted to the Queen's apartments."

Stannis watched his daughter's peaceful slumber. How long would it be before she would be married and having her own children? It was hard for him to contemplate her being anything other than his little girl. "Shireen," he called softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. "You must wake up now."

His daughter's blue eyes opened somewhat and she ran a hand through her dark hair while she stretched. "Father?"

"Yes. It is time."

"Time?" she yawned, rubbed her eyes, and then settled back down as if returning to sleep. Stannis decided to leave and tell the handmaid to bring her when she did awake, but before he reached the door, Shireen sat up and kicked the heavy linens and furs off her slight body. "It's time!"

The maester suggested that Sansa needed to try to rest to save strength for the birth and that quiet was recommended. It was decided that Shireen would read to her and that Marya would also stay. The maester would remain in or near the queen's apartments, but not in her bedchamber.

This left Stannis at loose ends and Sansa suggested he go meet with Davos and take care of the business of the realm. Uncharacteristically, and to his own astonishment, he bent and kissed her forehead in the sight of all present before he took his leave.

Davos and his uncle, Ser Lomas, were waiting for him in the Map Room. Despite the hour, bread and sop were brought in to break their fast, no doubt by Davos' design. Stannis felt a surge of gratitude that his uncle had come to be with him at this time, although he had no desire to be social. His uncle would understand this.

As the word spread, the other members of the Small Council convened in the Map Room rather than chambers. Attempts were made to conduct business and Stannis appreciated that Davos skillfully arranged matters so that nothing too weighty was being dealt with; just enough to occasionally manage to take his thoughts away from his queen's bedchamber. Shireen was ushered in by Ser Rolland, who had taken over for Ser Lambert, whenever she arrived with news. Her news was generally the same each time - the Queen was still in labor and doing well - until she arrived with a different bit of news.

"Father!" Shireen exclaimed as she entered the Map Room flanked by Ser Rolland, only this time she had forgotten to address him formally and curtsy upon entry as was her custom in the presence of others. "My brother is here!"

Stannis heard her, yet it took a second to sink in. He had a son . . . an heir to the Iron Throne. "The Queen and your brother, are they both well?"

"Maester Dion said as much," she replied, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

With that, Stannis received the congratulations from those in the room with his usual scowl; they were keeping him from making his exit and joining his family. Yes, he no longer had just a wife and daughter; he had a family and an heir.

Sansa was sitting up in bed with a swaddling-wrapped bundle in her arms when he returned to her bedchamber with Shireen and Davos in tow. He stopped and took in the sight, being greeted by the brightest smile he had ever seen. "Oh Stannis, come look at your son."

"Our son," he countered as he walked to the bed and peered at the tiny Baratheon she held. "Bravely done, Your Grace."

The swaddling only covered a little of the back of the baby's head and what was visible was covered in tufts of hair. Before he went to bed this night, he would write into the family history of the birth of Steffon Baratheon, _black_ of hair.

Shireen came around to the other side of the bed and unabashedly climbed in to get a good look. "Would you like to hold him?" Sansa asked.

"Please!" Stannis watched as Sansa carefully handed their son to Shireen and instructed her on how to hold him properly. She then turned back to him and their eyes held in wordless conversation. He remembered Davos was in the room and turned to address him. "Come meet your nephew, Davos." Today, a day for firsts, was the first time he had verbally admitted that he considered Davos as a brother.

Tears welled up in the younger man's eyes as he joined them and got a closer look at the Prince being held by the Princess. Davos cleared his throat to try and find his voice, "He has your chin, Sire."

"Are you sorry you are not holding Careen Baratheon, Princess?" Stannis asked.

Shireen did not take her eyes off her brother as she answered. "I thought perhaps I would be, but it is not so. Sansa told me she was sure she would have a sister for me before too long."

Stannis looked from his daughter and son to the man he regarded as brother and then to his wife, and in this moment, he realized . . . he was well and truly happy.


	20. The Wall

Davos

The impending threat to the Seven Kingdoms was believed to be from Ser Jaime Lannister. His whereabouts and intentions were still a mystery to all, with Tyrion Lannister claiming not to have heard from him. In reality, the heralding of the next threat came in the form of a raven from the Night's Watch. A raven telling of the dire situation at The Wall and an impending attack from the wildings behind The Wall arrived just before supper. It was brought to Davos, who had received astonished looks, if not sneers behind his back, when he asked to receive all ravens first to determine whether they should be brought to King Stannis' attention. He had started learning to read in the last year, and some things were still very difficult for him.

This message took him awhile to read and absorb, but once he did, it was clear that this was a threat to the whole of Westeros. The Wall could not be allowed to be overtaken by the wildlings. In his days as a smuggler, he had heard tales of those who claimed to have seen The Others and their wights, and barely made it away from them alive. One of the tales came from a man he trusted who had sworn it was all true; they existed and they were truly terrifying. The fall of The Wall could mean exposing Westeros to these creatures that lurk in the far north.

He found his king in the nursery of his son, Prince Steffon. The babe, barely two moons old, slept peacefully in his cradle. Stannis never held his son. Like most babies, Steffon was able to sense tension and met it with crying; no man who walked the land could have more tension in him than Stannis Baratheon. This didn't seem to make Stannis avoid his son. Instead, the King came into the nursery, dismissed the nurse for a short time, and watched his son as if he was the most amazing sight he had ever beheld. Other times, he watched the Queen or Princess hold the babe and play with him.

"Whatever brings you to Maegor's at supper cannot be good," Stannis remarked. "What news have you to tell your king?"

"It is indeed ill news, Your Grace," Davos revealed, talking in quite tones so as not to disturb the child. "We have had a raven from the Night's Watch. The wildlings have been mobilized by Mance Rayder and are marching southward in an attempt to overtake The Wall and invade Westeros."

"For what purpose?" his King asked, still watching his son.

"The raven does not say. Does their ultimate purpose matter? I doubt it is a peaceful one."

Sighing heavily, King Stannis gave his instructions. "Call in the Council. Those that have not had their supper can send for it. I will join you there shortly."

Davos departed to do as he was bid and within an hour, all members of the Council were present with the exception of Ser Lomas Estermont. It was known the older knight ate his supper early and was abed by this time of the evening. King Stannis kept two councils. The Small Council handled day-to-day business affairs of the realm. Weightier matters, such as war and threats to the realm, brought in the larger group of King Stannis' advisors, referred to as the "Council." Privately, Davos wished the Council was smaller in number. When everyone had an opinion to be heard, meetings could drone on for hours on end. This would be one of those times.

After the raven was read, Ser Axell spoke first to proclaim that The Wall was of no importance and to let it fall. Florent turned to the King and sneered. "The Queen might approve the wildlings taking over Winterfell from the Bolton bastard."

"Enough!" Stannis stood and thundered in return. "Ser Axell, I warn you to have a care. I have given you a wide berth in deference of your niece, but one more remark related to the Queen and I will imprison you for treason!"

It was all Davos could do to keep from applauding. He opted instead for returning the focus to the matter at hand. "The Night's Watch is requesting assistance."

Ser Gerald Gowan's question was one of logistics. "Could we get an army there in time?"

"Do we know when too late would be?" Ser Andrew Estermont asked.

"There is a great deal we do not know," King Stannis agreed. "We probably will not know details unless or until we are there. What we must assess is whether the threat is real and what the appropriate response should be."

Discussion ensued for close to an hour with before another raven was brought into the room. In keeping with instructions, it was brought to Davos, who was nervous about reading it in front of the rest of the Council. "Let me see it, Davos," the King ordered, as he slowly opened it. "I would like to read it first." Davos was certain his King, in this instance – his brother, had spared him an awkward moment.

Stannis read through the message. "It is from Lord Stark. He wrote to ensure we received the raven from the Night's Watch. He is sending half his forces to The Wall, but he will be slow to get there, having to avoid Ramsey Snow. The message says he cannot send all his forces and leave Riverrun unprotected."

"Does he believe his forces will be enough to assist the Night's Watch?" inquired Ser Rolland.

The King passed the message back to Davos, "No. He is asking if we can send an army as well. It is not expected that Petyr Baelish will send assistance from The Vale, and I agree. If there is no profit for him personally, he will not trouble himself."

Several more hours of debate went on before the majority agreed it was too risky to allow wildlings to successfully invade south of The Wall and that Mance Rayder was a capable enough leader and tactician to warrant concern that the combined strength of the Night's Watch and Starks army was not enough. It was also agreed that they would only send half of their army by sea and, like Lord Stark, leave the other half to guard against a possible attack from Ser Jaime Lannister. Davos objected when the King announced he would lead his army to The Wall and that Davos would, as Hand, stay in King's Landing.

"The King leads his army, Davos. And the Hand of the King stays behind to govern in his stead."

At Stannis' request, Davos remained in chambers with him after the rest of the Council returned to their beds for the night. "I wish you would reconsider and let me go with you," Davos implored.

His king raised an eyebrow. "I need you here. There is something else."

"Yes, Sire?"

"I don't want to leave Sansa, Marya, and the children here. They should be moved in case of an invasion of the Red Keep. That is the army you will have to lead should it come to that. "

Davos was grateful his wife and children were included. "Do you wish to move them to Dragonstone or Storm's End?"

"Cape Wrath. Lannister would look first at Storm's End and then next at Dragonstone. If word were sent at the first sight of him, I would hope to return to Cape Wrath before the Kingslayer figures out they are there. Ser Justin and Ser Rolland will accompany them and stay with them."

Both men knew the small amount of people at Cape Wrath and two of the King's Guard would not be enough to fend off an attack by Ser Jaime. "I am also sending for someone else to guard them," the King told him cryptically, "I will write the message; the raven needs to be dispatched tonight."


	21. The Parting

Stannis

Stannis knew Sansa would not take the news of the dire situation at The Wall well. Once again, her beloved elder brother was in danger, as well as the half-brother she had confessed to him late one night about having guilt at treating poorly. He had considered telling her of his suspicions about the parentage of Jon Snow, as he had her lady mother, but thought better of it. Would it be that much different if he were a cousin rather than a brother? What Stannis had not expected was that she would argue so vehemently against his going to fight alongside them. He had anticipated she would appreciate that he would personally go to lead members of her family in battle. However, her initial reaction was to insist his army did not need him and to emphasize her assertion with tears.

While the tears were disconcerting, Stannis had to admit he found her concern gratifying and not something he was used to experiencing. In her agitation, she made several accusations that he didn't believe she meant even as she said them, such as his wanting an excuse to leave her and the children for a time. It was almost dawn before he managed to calm Sansa enough for her to fall asleep. It would be two days or more before his ships could be outfitted and provisioned to start the journey to the North by sea. He rose after less than an hour of sleep to meet yet again with the Council and commanders, and proceed with the day of preparations and planning. There would be time to sleep on the voyage.

Stannis often did not see his son awake. One might argue there wasn't much to observe in a babe so young, but he had missed a great deal of Shireen's childhood by being away doing his duty. Steffon could be walking by the time he returned. He wasn't one to say "if" – that was a very real possibility, but it was useless to dwell on it. His army was second to none in Westeros and he knew himself to be a skilled tactician. His knew his weakness was in his desire for recognition, not power. When he went into battle, he wanted to win. When he undertook an endeavor, he wanted to be the best. Stannis had never had a desire to sit on the Iron Throne. In truth, he had wanted his family home of Storms End. Now, it was his, yet he could never live there again.

That evening, the nurse curtsied and left him with his son when he entered the nursery. Sansa must have just put him down as Steffon was not yet asleep, although lying on his stomach. Stannis had a strong urge to pick him up and hold him but didn't want to upset him before he fell asleep. With the sparse amount of dark hair on his head, Steffon Baratheon appeared as a chubby miniature of his father. One exception was the Tully blue eyes that now observed him curiously. The other was the amount of smiling his son seemed to do. It made him wonder if he smiled as easily at this age. Stannis doubted it.

He continued to watch his son for a while longer before joining Sansa and Shireen at supper. They were both determined to make light of the change in situation, and Stannis appreciated the effort for it was particularly obvious in Sansa that she had to make an extreme effort to do so. He expected Shireen to be more used to his departures, although she too seemed to be having difficulty accepting the matter. Had Shireen always been like this before he left and he had not noticed? For the first time that he could remember since they had made a habit of having these suppers together, carrying the conversation fell to him. Stannis was certain the battles soon to be fought would be far easier for him than watching these two put on a brave face and failing so miserably.

The night before he was to sail, Stannis experienced another night with little sleep. After supper, Sansa and he walked Shireen to her bedchamber, as was their custom. When he returned her to the door of her apartments, Sansa took his hand and pulled him inside with her. "You won't need to change into your undertunic before coming to our bed, Stannis," she said, locking her eyes onto his. "It would be pointless."

Few words were spoken that night and he was thankful that it wasn't another night of tears and protestations about his leaving or her and the children being removed to Cape Wrath. Before they were married, he would never have imagined a night spent in such passion. It was as if, by silent assent, they were making a futile effort to make up the nights together they were about to miss.

Stannis awoke before the sun came up and rose, carefully moving her head off his chest and onto the pillow he had just vacated. Putting on just his breeches, he returned to his apartments where Devan was waiting to attend him. Once fully dressed, Stannis went back into their bedchamber. Sansa was curled on her side as if still lying against him. He considered waking her, but this was the image he wanted to take with him – her looking at peace. Instead, he kissed her cheek, afraid more would wake her. As he turned to leave, Stannis saw the flowers in the vase on the bedside table. Hoping such a display of sentimentality would not alarm her nearly as much as it did him, he picked a rose out of the vase and set it beside the pillow for her to find when she awoke.

Next, Stannis went into Steffon's nursery. To her credit, the nurse bolted upright at the early morning intrusion. It gave him a measure of satisfaction that his son was being well attended when not with Sansa, which wasn't often for his queen still would only let him out of her sight when he was meant to sleep. Again, Stannis experienced the urge to attempt to hold him. He tried memorizing his face to take the memory with him, but it did not satisfy. Stannis wanted to be able to recall holding his son while he was away. Attempting to pick him up without waking him was more awkward than he imagined, but he managed it eventually, settling the small bundle in the crook of his arm. It was probably the image of Sansa rocking Steffon in her arms that made him endeavor to do so. His son's eyes began to open and Stannis stood stone still, waiting for the screaming to begin. Instead, a smile broke out on the miniature version of his face and plump arms reached upwards toward him. Tears welled in Stannis' eyes as he pulled the babe closer, letting the tiny splayed fingers touch his stubbled face.

Stannis last went into Shireen's room and found her sitting up in bed waiting for him. He sat beside her. "You should be asleep." It sounded like a scold; they both knew it wasn't.

"Do you believe in The Others, Father?"

He did not believe the stories and even if they were true, Shireen did not need to be concerned with them. "I have not seen one and I know no one who has. If they existed in the North, the Queen's lord father would surely have been aware of them and warned your uncle when he was king."

"Lie back down," he instructed, and as he leaned over her to cover her with the bedclothes, she put her arms around his neck and held him in as tight a hug as she was capable. He allowed her to hold him thus, bringing his arms around her to return the embrace.

"I shall look to you to watch over the Queen and your brother," he said, pulling away and cautioning himself to do so gently so as not to appear that he did not appreciate her gesture. She yawned and nodded in response, asleep before her head returned to the pillow.

Walking from Maegor's Holdfast to join Davos in the Small Council chambers where they would go over the plans one more time before heading for the docks, Stannis felt a bit overwhelmed. Most of the realm would vow he had no emotions. He had them, of course; he was just adept at repressing them, fearing they would either be seen as a sign of weakness or be used against him.

Hours later, he was walking the deck of his ship as it began to sail out of port. When he got to the stern he looked toward the docks and a familiar shade of dark red caught his eye. There, he saw Sansa holding their son with Shireen by her side and Davos standing behind his daughter. Sansa laid a hand on Shireen's shoulder and then pointed towards him. She reacted by standing on her toes and peering in the direction being pointed to. Once she sighted him, she began waving. Stannis had told Sansa he didn't want her coming to the docks, preferring to say goodbye to her privately. Now, looking at his family, he was glad they were there. He did not wave, but stood there until he could not see them any longer.


	22. The Protector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, please give me a wide berth on the tactical and strategic conflict elements of this story. I had to weigh doing a better job versus finishing by the end of the decade.
> 
> Stronger language here than in previous chapters.

Sansa

The Seaworth keep at Cape Wrath was small and already crowded before the entourage from King's Landing arrived. Lord and Lady Seaworth had left it in the care of the widow of their oldest son, Dale. Alys was an amiable girl about five years older than Sansa. She was short with a more curvaceous figure, and a lighter shade of red hair. She instantly tried to defer back to Marya, who graciously told her both their efforts as lady of the house would be needed to see to their additional guests.

They were taken to Cape Wrath aboard Lord Salladhor's ship, the Valyrian. Lord Salladhor, a pirate who had been of service to the King during the Battle of Blackwater, had several of his ships guarding Cape Wrath by sea ready to come ashore if needed. Most of his fleet was at King's Landing to bolster forces there. Edric Storm, who had been living at Dragonstone, was moved to Cape Wrath for his protection and was already there when the King's Landing party arrived. It warmed Sansa to see Shireen so excited at seeing the boy again.

Sansa shared a room with Shireen and the baby by her own desire. The Seaworths had offered to make more private accommodations for them, but she knew that would mean others sleeping three to a bed and was totally unnecessary. An option was presented for Steffon to share a nursery with Alys' son, Davos, but Sansa said she would like to have him close by and hoped they understood it was a case of maternal protectiveness.

The morning of their eighth day at Cape Wrath, Ser Rolland and a few men were sent out after news from a watchman of an approaching lone rider. Ser Justin insisted Sansa, Marya, Alys, and the children be taken down into a series of underground tunnels Davos had added for the safety of his family. Many keeps had tunnels, their existence was not necessarily being a secret, but their access less known. Lord Davos had new tunnels and exits established that weren't there before the small keep became the seat of House Seaworth. Once down there, she realized Davos had spent money advancing the security of the keep with tunnels that went nowhere just to confuse and cause an invader to have to split up to cover them. Only a few knew the exit that would take them to the sea where they would find a rowboat waiting. From there, they would escape to one of Salladhor's ships if trouble came. However, in this instance, they had not been instructed to go as far as the sea, but to wait. Only if Ser Justin did not return within the half-hour were they to proceed to the sea.

It was difficult keeping the Seaworth boys and Edric Storm entertained and yet stay relatively quiet while they waited. Fortunately, Ser Justin sounded the all clear and they climbed the ladder to get back into Marya's bower, one of three entrances into the tunnels.

Sansa and Marya settled the children and then went to see if they had gained an additional guest. She heard him before she saw him, that harsh rasp from vocal chords damaged by fire being unique and unmistakable as he spoke to Ser Justin. Stopping for a moment to compose herself and trying to determine why he was there, Marya looked at her curiously but did not ask. Sansa smiled reassuringly and led them into the great hall, deciding it was better to find out firsthand rather than guess.

"Ser Sandor," she said as if greeting an old friend, for in truth, that was the case, "What brings you to Cape Wrath?" While still terrifyingly large and as fierce looking as she remembered, he also looked older than she expected after one year. Trying to deal with a rebellious Arya alone could have aged him thus, but she knew she could only imagine what he had been through since they last met.

"The King sent a raven to Lord Stark ordering me to be sent here, Your Grace, " he growled, making the perfunctory bow.

Stannis sent for him? The same Stannis that had told her she could not visit Riverrun while he was there? She had to bite her lip to avoid displaying her emotions, although overwhelmed by them. First, there was the knowledge that Stannis would forego whatever misgivings he had about The Hound and send for him. She missed the husband who would put aside his pride and put the lives of his family as a priority by sending for the one the most capable man in Westeros of seeing to the safety of her and the children outside of Stannis himself. And second, that The Hound would come at all after she had refused to go with him the night of the Battle of Blackwater Bay.

Marya, with her usual acuteness, sensed Sansa was having a difficult time speaking. "Ser Sandor, I am Lady Marya Seaworth and I bid you welcome. You must be tired and hungry after your journey. I will see that food is made ready while Ser Justin shows you where you can bed down and store your belongings."

Sandor bowed to Marya, "My Lady." He looked back at Sansa. "I have gifts for you and your children from your lady mother. Would like to eat and get the dust off before I bring them to you, if you do not object, Your Grace."

His continued use of Your Grace and the propriety of his speech changed her mood from somber to amused. Of course, he could not address his queen as Little Bird while others could overhear, but she hoped he wouldn't keep up this pretense in private – should they ever be able to talk in private. There were things Sansa wanted to say to him, so she hoped Stannis had not given some order to Ser Rolland or Ser Justin that they were not to be alone together. Even if he had not, she would need to be circumspect at all times. Any time alone with him would have to be overseen from afar, and not merely for Stannis' benefit. Even the remotest suspicion of a scandal was something she was determined to avoid. After the small folk learned from Cersei how a queen's deception could lead to war, it was up to her to make them trust in their queen again by being overly judicious.

It was late afternoon before she saw him again. Sansa said within the hearing of most of those to whom it would matter that she wished to talk to The Hound about the situation at Riverrun and the rescue of her sister. They walked in the garden while the Seaworth boys battled each other with miniature versions of wooden training swords nearby. No one seemed concerned about observing them.

"I first want to thank you for returning Arya to my family, Ser," she started.

"Was it your idea to have him insist I become a fuckin' Ser, Little Bird?" Sandor rasped rather than acknowledge her gratitude.

Sansa could not believe how glad she was to hear him use his old, familiar name for her. It was one of the few, if not only, sweet relics from a horrific time. "I'm afraid it might indeed be my fault. Consider that he rewarded Lord Davos with great honors, yet still made him pay with the fingers of one hand for past crimes. In jest, I told him that making you take vows as a knight, along with having had to travel with Arya, was punishment enough for any past crimes. I did not think he took me seriously until I learned you were knighted by Robb."

Sandor dark eyes showed annoyance. "All seven buggering hells, girl! You expected Stannis Baratheon to understand something meant in jest?"

She started to chastise him for being crude and for speaking in such a manner about her husband, not to mention his king, but the familiarity of his outspokenness was comforting even if she didn't approve of what he had to say. "His Grace does understand a joke, although he is less likely to laugh than most. What he would not understand is your aversion to taking a vow. I am rather surprised you did so."

"I wasn't given much of a choice!" he barked. "Given the choice of taking the damned vow or give up your life - you take the fuckin' vow."

Peering up at him, she looked into the scared face and tried to discern whether he was just grumbling for the sake of it or whether having to take vows really bothered him. She hoped for the former but suspected the latter. "Whether you like it or not, Ser, you came to be my idea of what a knight should be rather than what they turned out to be."

"Still driveling out the same old courtesies, I see."

"There is a difference these days," Sansa assured him. "I want to as a matter of my natural disposition rather than need to for survival."

Sandor stopped walking and she followed suit, turning toward him. Dark eyes studied her. "You know you can't lie to me, Little Bird, so tell me true. Is he good to you? Does he treat you well?"

She took a deep breath and composed herself before answering. Now was the time to tell him what she needed to say to him. "There were many reasons I did not leave King's Landing with you that night. I sat there for the longest time trying to figure out why I did not run after you. There were times I called myself noble and claimed I did not because I would have slowed you down and hurt your chances for escape. Part of that is true, but not all of it. The truth is I don't know why I stayed behind. You don't believe in the old gods or the new, so it would be pointless to say that they guided me. I'm not sure that is the way of it either. Stay I did and because of it, I have a husband who . . . who cares for me and in whom I can trust, a beautiful son and daughter, and a new family."

"That's quite a speech, Little Bird. I am one who can attest that you have a way of getting to a man who is stone cold inside." Sandor paused, looking at the Seaworth boys for a moment and yelling, "Little Seaworth! You're swinging too wide; tighten up!"

Sandor Clegane turned back to her and rasped in a more muted tone, "At first, I thought he sent for me fearing the Kingslayer would send Gregor. I thought you might have told him why I want to kill that mountain of shit."

"If the King knows anything about your desires there, it is from someone else," she assured him.

His eyes narrowed and lines formed on his brow. "Then if not for that, he sent for me because he knows . . . " Sandor Clegane did not finish; he did not need to.

"There was a time when I would have said the Lannisters had left me with no heart. That was never true. I have a very full heart that holds everyone I care about close. Stannis has come to have the largest part of it and I am fortunate that it is so. But there is a place in my heart that is uniquely yours and where you will always be, Sandor."

Sansa had never called him by his first name before, at least not without "Ser" in front of it, that she remembered and blushed that she had done so now. Sandor continued to stare at her. "Queen Sansa . . . lover of stones," he bellowed out, followed by a hollow laugh. She knew, despite his reaction, that he understood she was telling him for the first time that she loved him, yet she loved her husband more and would never betray him. With Stannis, she would probably never feel the heated passion she suspected Sandor could have made her feel. Yet with Sandor, she would have been at odds with the lady she was raised to be and the life she understood.

"Come, Little Bird. You need to go back to the great hall and I'll bring you the presents your lady mother sent." Sandor broke into her thoughts. "Then I've got work to do. If the Kingslayer and Gregor are coming, I have a lot to do to make sure we're ready for them."


	23. The Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hound is in this so there will be "language, language, language" :)
> 
> One more time – apologies for my lack of tactical thinking when crafting the conflict side of this.

Sandor

It took everything he had to remember Sansa Stark, no . . . Sansa Baratheon . . . was queen of the realm and to treat her as such when others were watching, which was always. It was easier to see her as queen when he had been on the run and first learned of it or at Riverrun. Here, she looked a great deal his Little Bird. The difference was that she didn't look worn down and the constant fear was gone from her eyes, which was ironic because she'd never been in more danger. His brother was coming; Sandor could feel it. A confrontation between the two of them was what he wanted. He wasn't so arrogant that he believed it was a foregone conclusion he would be the one come out of that confrontation alive. Now that his being the victor was required in order to save Little Bird from Gregor's clutches, Sandor had more motivation to add the name Kinslayer to the list of names people called him.

Stannis Baratheon's men at Cape Wrath, while smaller in number than he liked, were among the finest trained in warfare that he'd dealt with. That was no surprise; Stannis wouldn't allow levity in training and while Tywin Lannister had been strict in his training regime, Stannis' men had as much or more discipline. His men had more skill and they worked together. Lannister men were each out for themselves and maybe Baratheon men were too, but it didn't look that way when they trained. They had a good sense that their lives depended on those around them being equally as good as or better than they were.

Sandor tried to keep his thoughts on his mission for being here and not that Little Bird appeared to genuinely be happy in her marriage to a man everyone knew was as cold as a Northern winter. Perhaps, after Joffrey's cruelty, no feelings seemed a bargain to her. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't envision himself whisking her away and making her his, even now when she was a queen and mother rather than the innocent maid that first stirred emotions in him he'd long though impossible. Drink and fear had made him try it the night he left King's Landing. Looking at Little Bird holding her son, which he was going to have to talk to her about because she did it far too often and could end up making him a milksop, he knew he was destined to worship from afar.

"What is it about ugly men that women seem to find so interesting?" Justin Massey chimed in while they both observed those watching the training yard from the surrounding fence.

"What the hell are you on about?"

If possible, Massey's smile seemed to get wider. "Now that you're here, Alys Seaworth graces us with her presence when she never has before."

Relieved he wasn't talking about Sansa, he covered by growling, "For fuck's sake, Massey. She's probably worried a rabid dog like me will attack her good-brothers."

"She is sizing you up all right," Massey laughed, but stopped as he then turned his attention to Ser Rolland Storm coming from the direction of the rookery.

Storm, who was put in charge of the army assembled at Cape Wrath, walked straight to them. "Raven from King's Landing. Lord Seaworth says Lannister is upon them and they are currently holding their own."

"Any comment on strength or ships?" Sandor asked, his eyes taking in his current surroundings with greater interest.

"He didn't think he had much in the way of Tyrell support, if any. Nothing about ships," Storm replied. "Our watchmen haven't seen anything. He may not have enough to invade King's Landing and go looking for the Queen. He may not be smart enough to know King Stannis would remove them."

"Bugger all!" Sandor growled back. "Jaime Lannister is an arrogant prick, but he's not stupid. The only tactical advantage we have is that most would expect the King to have sent them to Storm's End. The Kingslayer would have timed his assault on King's Landing to coincide with Gregor's arrival at Storm's End. By now, Gregor's already figured out that they aren't there and it says Storm's End has been well and truly fucked since you haven't received a raven of warning. He may think they are Dragonstone, but he'll stop here on his way to be sure. Believe that!"

Storm and Massey digested what he'd said and Massey was the first to comment. "You ready to be a kinslayer, Ser Sandor?"

"When you have kin like him, it's a fuckin' honor."

Massey then turned to his commander. "When are you sending the women and children to Salladhor's ship?"

Storm took a deep breath. "The King didn't send them out to that ship any sooner for a reason. He trusts the pirate in battle, but he only trusts him so far with his family. At least not the pirate's men."

"Then why isn't one of his damned ships here?" Sandor raged. That part hadn't made sense to him from the time he'd first heard of their plan.

"Because we lost half our fleet to green fire and have only replaced a few. Salladhor wasn't going to send his men up North; it would have been pointless to force them as they aren't trained for that weather."

"And you lot are?"

Massey's perpetual grin left his face, replaced by a steely look that Sandor had to admit gained a measure of respect. "Yes, Hound, we are."

"You really think The Mountain is on his way?" Storm seemed to need assurance before making the decision, making Sandor muster all his strength to keep from throttling him.

"You've got less than a day before he gets here."

Storm addressed Massey first. "Get them ready and send them to the Valyrian. Send Fell and Pike with them." He then turned his attention to Sandor. "Bolster the watch and have everyone you see recheck armaments."

Sandor wished for one last look at his Little Bird before he departed, but he had too much to do to make that happen. As he moved to begin the real work of this day, he heard Massey instruct the Seaworth boys and their good-sister to follow him.

Two hours later, he overheard Massey report that he had witnessed the boat with Little Bird and the rest of the women, children, and their two escorts reach The Valyrian and was flagged that they were safely on board. He was glad to learn that the ship and the other two with it were leaving the visible area. Sandor was relying on Jaime viewing Stannis Baratheon the way most did; the way he had. Jaime might want to harm Sansa for her role in the execution of Cercei; he doubted Jaime cared much revenge for the shit he sired. His primary objective would be revenge on the man who ordered the execution. Before the raven came ordering him to Cape Wrath, Sandor would have believed the only way to get to Stannis was to take the Iron Throne from him. Now, he wasn't nearly as positive on that score. Jaime would know no better. He would use every ship he had at King's Landing and assume Gregor could take care of his secondary objective.

"The piece of shit likes fire," Sandor informed Ser Rolland Storm when he saw him again. "I could see him having archers attempting to shoot fire into the keep to smoke whoever is in there out. Plus, it either occupies would-be fighters in putting the fire out or terrifies them." That last bit he knew too well. Gregor had learned early in life what fire can do not only to the flesh, but to the mind.

Storm seemed to agree. "If he manages to set the keep on fire, let it burn. Most of the Seaworths are in King's Landing and I have a feeling the King would relish an excuse to reward his Hand with a better seat. I'll give the word and prepare the men."

It was the middle of the following morning when one of the watchmen reported unusual movement coming from the west. No sooner had word reached them when the archers with arrows of fire reigned on them. Few actually hit the keep, which told Sandor that Gregor's compliment of men was not as large as he usually had. It did not mean there weren't more than enough for them to handle. Sandor had spent part of the time he'd been at Cape Wrath trying to learn the faces of those who were on the same side he was. Fortunately, he was more likely to recognize most of Gregor's men as an opponent.

He fought through men for the better part of an hour, wearing the familiar hound helm to make sure word got to Gregor that he was there. To get to him, Gregor ran through one of his own just to get him out of the way. "Little brother!" the giant turd shouted, an evil smile visible through his helm, "I might have known you would be stupid enough to try to save the Stark girl. She is your biggest weakness . . . oh wait, second biggest weakness. The first would be fire, wouldn't it?"

Rather than answer, Sandor delivered the first thrust of his sword in their parlay. Battle around them practically ceased as the other combatants seemed, by mutual, unspoken agreement, to stop to watch the contest between The Mountain and The Hound. They danced around several slain bodies as the wielded their swords against each other. Gregor was the first to draw blood, slashing Sandor's arm. Taking the time to gloat about it was his mistake; Sandor instantly returned with a deep trust into The Mountain's side. It slowed him down only a fraction. On it went, Sandor feeling invigorated despite his wound that he was able to match his older brother so evenly. He was the underdog in this fight, but what most didn't know is all his training was for this one match and he had studied Gregor at every tournament to learn his weakenesses.

Gregor tried more taunting, including ones involving Little Bird. "The whore's been fucked by Stannis, probably fucked by you, and when I find her, she's going to know what a real fucking is!" Sandor didn't bother. If it were anyone else, he might return the taunts, but he needed to keep his cool and concentrate. Gregor would find it more frustrating if he saw no evidence that his barbs hit home.

When the fight between the brothers Clegane was spoken of, anyone who told the truth of it would say that, in the end, Ser Sandor wore Ser Gregor down. Their parlay lasted for over an hour with more and more stopping to watch the spectacle. At a point when Gregor's knees sagged from exhaustion, Sandor came in with an uppercut of his sword and maneuvered around, taking one leg to trip his brother and put him on the ground. To his relieved surprise, the Baratheon soldiers present drew swords at the Lannister/Clegane men to hold them back. Sandor put both hands on the hilt of his sword and raised it to a level with his head, with the tip clearly aimed at Gregor.

"Wait!" Storm called out and approached him. Sandor still held his sword high over his brother as he lay heaving on the ground. "All here know you bested him, but if you don't want to be branded a kinslayer, I will finish him for you."

Sandor answered him by shoving the sword down with all his might into his brother's exposed neck, the force of which barely left The Mountain's head connected to his torso.

Afterward, the remaining Lannister/Clegane force sent to find Little Bird and Stannis' heir were quickly routed. Sandor was barely able to acknowledge the sense of the matter when Ser Rolland Storm cited they would not be sending a raven to King's Landing as it might be intercepted by Jaime, who would possibly send another troop. Instead, they would wait for validation that King's Landing had held out before trading that information. It was somewhere around that time that all around him went dark.

When he opened his eyes again, Sandor found himself in bed stripped down to his small clothes with heavy furs pulled up around him. The sun was coming in through the open window. "You're back," he heard in a female voice he didn't quickly recognize. The owner of the voice got up from a chair on the other side of the room and came closer; he saw it was Alys Seaworth. "The queen will want to know you are awake now."

Despite words that implied she would be leaving to get the queen, she took the time to survey him. "How do you feel?"

"Like I fell off a fuckin' rampart," he rasped back at her. It took effort to fight drifting back into sleep. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days," the young woman supplied. She was a pretty sort; not a great beauty like Little Bird, yet she would be easy on the eyes if his head were pounding.

Her being here and saying the queen was here to be told of his waking told him the answer to his most important questions, the second being that it appeared no one else had followed Gregor to Cape Wrath. "Any news from King's Landing?"

"Ser Jaime has been forced to retreat," she informed him, laying a cool hand on his forehead. It made him jump as much as he was capable in his current state. "I was checking for fever."

"I know what the hell you were doing girl!" He deliberately tried to put as much bark into it as he could manage.

Alys was not put off by his manner. She also made an assumption about the source of his irritation. "She has been here when she wasn't needed with the children."

Sandor didn't know what to say to that so he said nothing, and when he didn't reply, she left the room.


	24. The News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hound is in this so, to put it in my native Southern US vernacular, "He's gonna cuss – real bad." :)
> 
> Admit my reasoning about ravens, use, and path may be off . . . way off.

Marya

Davos had warned her that the man arriving to provide additional protection was scarred, on the inside as well as the outside, and was not considered a pleasant man to be around. He did not warn her that this man aptly called The Hound was in love with their queen. Marya wondered if Davos knew. She strongly suspected King Stannis did, but if so, she was confused about his motives for sending for him. Was this a test of the fidelity of his wife? Or, had he chosen a man he knew had a strong motive to protect her? Speculating on such things kept her mind from dwelling on the safety of her husband while they were instructed to stay at Cape Wrath until Davos felt it was safe to return. At least ravens were coming in regularly from King's Landing. There were no ravens from the North and the strain was showing on Sansa.

To add to her diversion and make the interaction, or rather the purposeful lack of it, between The Hound and the Queen more interesting was the fact that her good-daughter, Alys, seemed to find The Hound worth watching. When Marya first noticed Alys' interest, she went to her bedchamber and cried for the better part of the afternoon. She did not wish the young widow to be alone for the rest of her life and hoped she would find a good man to marry and help raise her grandson. The tears were because she remembered Dale's courtship of Alys, and it brought on the need to mourn the loss of her four oldest sons and the knowledge that life would go on without them. On the surface, The Hound was the sort of man a mother warned her daughters against, and she did think of Alys as a daughter, not just a good-daughter. Over the time spent at Cape Wrath, she saw his fierce loyalty to Sansa and rather than show animosity towards the children of his rival for her affections, he accepted them as extensions of Sansa. The man was particularly kind to Shireen in his gruff way. He also took an interest in Marya's sons, telling them it was time to stop playing with the training swords and learning to use them properly. The Hound would hold both baby boys, Davos and Steffon. However, he ignored Alys, speaking to her only when he had to. Marya knew that probably made her interest all the more acute.

Days passed into weeks while they waited . . . and waited. The men spent time making repairs needed from the outbuildings damaged from the archer's fires and training in the yard. The women did what they always do – everything else. Watchmen were still posted should Jaime Lannister send someone else to come at them with another attack, but few believed it would happen after hearing about the losses he suffered before his retreat. Lord Salladhor now only kept one ship close by and word was that ship would be leaving soon. Marya did not think King Stannis would appreciate that when he learned of it; Davos certainly did not.

Stanny was the first to let his mother know a raven came in from the north rather than from the west. Marya considered whether she should wait to hear what news the raven brought from Ser Rolland first before alerting Sansa, but decided against it. Her queen was bloodying her fingers with needlework and anything else she could find for employment waiting to hear something, anything, from her husband. Both women were outside in front of the keep expecting Ser Rolland to come from the direction of the rookery. Instead, he came from the training yard with Ser Justin and The Hound behind him. The first thing she noticed was that Ser Justin was not wearing his trademark smile. Marya felt her chest tighten and saw a similar sense of panic in Sansa's eyes.

"Tell me plainly what the raven says," Sansa commanded with a voice cracked with fear as Sers Rolland and Justin bowed to her. Marya noticed that The Hound positioned himself behind her.

Ser Rolland's lips quivered as he began. "Your Grace. The raven we just received says that King Stannis has been killed by wildlings at the siege of The Wall."

Marya laid a hand on Sansa's arm as tears began to cloud her sight and The Hound took a step closer but didn't touch her. All were waiting for tears and for her to collapse under the weight of the news. Instead, she steeled her back and stood up straight. "Where does this raven come from? Who has signed it? Does it have a seal?"

Ser Rolland opened the rolled parchment, examining it closely. "There is no seal, Your Grace. Nor does the writer identify himself. It was probably written in haste as fighting continued. The fact that it was sent here means it was sent by someone who knew you were at Cape Wrath."

This seemed to deflate her for a second, but only a second as she found an argument. "I cannot believe that there would be any reason that the death of the King would be transmitted without a seal other than for nefarious reasons. I know he is not dead."

"How so, Your Grace?" Ser Justin asked. The fact that he did so to placate her clearly evident.

Sansa eyed him defiantly. "Because I would feel it, Ser. I would know if it was true and I do not."

Marya felt great pity for her friend and queen, not to mention a sense of urgency at the fate of her own husband. Just because Prince Steffon was the rightful heir did not mean there would be no contenders to try to usurp the rights of a babe not quite a year in age.

Ser Rolland tried to be patient with his queen. "What purpose would sending such a message serve and who could have sent it, if not from either our ships or The Night's Watch?"

"Ramsey Snow is between The Wall and here. It would be like Stannis and Robb to turn from The Wall toward Winterfell while there."

"We have had no word to that affect." Ser Justin returned.

It was The Hound who rasped an opinion next. "That's just it. We've had no buggering word at all, which makes me think ravens from that area are being shot down as they fly south."

"That would take some precision shooting, not to mention watching day and night." Ser Rolland countered. "I do not want for the death of my king, do not get me wrong. I long for a good reason, a solid reason, that I can discount this news!"

"It's true that ravens would follow the same path, so someone studying them could learn those paths and know when one is headed to areas held primarily Baratheon bannermen, but Winterfell is not in that path. The Eyrie and the lands of the Vale of Arryn are. Lord Baelish has no stake in any of this." Ser Justin reasoned.

"That's where you're wrong," The Hound returned. "Baelish betrayed the Queen's father by saying he would back him up with the King's Guard and then had them turn on him. He could do it because he paid them. He has always had a burr up his ass where the Queen's mother and her marriage are concerned. That little shit is just the sort of pull off some sort of scheme that no one else can figure out and he'd have spies who could tell him things no one else would think he could possibly know, such as where the Queen is. He could have sent this raven to King's Landing, every Baratheon stronghold, or hells – sent it out to the entire realm. There's nothing to say it was just sent to Cape Wrath."

Sansa turned around to confront him with this news. "Why did you never tell me of his role in my father's capture?"

"You had enough people to hate in that hell hole," he shrugged, nonplussed by the edge in her tone.

"I still don't see what Lord Baelish would accomplish by this?" Ser Rolland interjected.

"He adds to his purse when he's created a shit storm. Putting a babe barely a year old on the throne does just that, even if it's only temporarily." The Hound countered.

Marya was dizzy from all the speculation and she knew it was important enough for Davos to be made aware of their suspicions. "Davos needs to know the Queen's current state of mind about the news and what Ser Sandor suspects. He may know more than we do."

"I agree," Ser Rolland replied. "I will see to it." He then addressed Sansa. "Your Grace, is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?"

"Yes," she answered firmly, her blue eyes ablaze. "You can remember that your king is a greater warrior and the one who made you the fighters you are. You did not fall to one of the fiercest men in all of Westeros and your king will not fall to a pack of wildlings or the likes of Ramsey Snow or Petyr Baelish." Sansa then looked at each one of them to let them know she did not want to hear of them speaking as if her husband was dead. "Now, I wish to speak with Ser Sandor in private. Ser Rolland, please see to the raven to Lord Seaworth in King's Landing."

With that, they were dismissed. Marya walked back toward the entrance of the keep when she heard The Hound fiercely bark. "Have you lost your damned mind, Little Bird?"

Sansa was in a rage when she returned to the great hall where Marya waited for her. Rage was better than grief. "How can he refuse to do the bidding of his queen?" she stormed.

Marya understood it as a rhetorical question. This was not a queen angry at one of her subjects not obeying her. This was a woman who was upset that a man she counted on as having wrapped around her finger did not do her bidding. It had to mean that whatever she was proposing put her in harm's way. As much as she wanted to ask what it was she had wanted The Hound to do, she opted for letting Sansa divulge it in her own time.

"Your Grace, perhaps you should say something to the Princess. She is bound to hear the rumors whispered about."

This pulled Sansa out of herself. "Yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me."

As Sansa began to walk away from her, Marya regretted the suggestion only because of her curiosity at what she had requested of The Hound that he refused to do. If she had stayed longer, she might have told her. Marya started to go back outside and collect her sons in the training yard when she heard Sansa's voice behind her. "I want to go to The Wall and find him."

Marya was astonished; she hadn't considered that would be what Sansa wanted. Even if The Hound had been agreeable, Ser Rolland would have tried to stop them and enlisted her to use any influence she may have to help him. He might even have gone so far as to attempt to physically stop them, although she would have hated to have seen him try to stop The Hound if he were agreeable to taking her away. They stood on opposite sides of the hall, barely able to hear each other except when speaking up. "I know you want to go to him, to find out what is truly happening. However, I can't help but think the King would want you to make the Prince and Princess your first priority."

She saw the tears and slump in Sansa's shoulders and ran back across the hall to gather the young woman in her arms, pulling her head down to her shoulder. "He is not dead," Sansa cried in anguish, "I know he is not!"

"I know he would fight to stay alive and come back to you, Sweetling," Marya whispered, putting as much conviction into her words as she could muster. "If anyone is invincible, it is Stannis Baratheon."


	25. The Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

Sansa

It was the next morning when the first raven arrived from Davos at King's Landing. A copy of the same raven had been received, along with several others – some claimed the King was dead, others claimed he was alive, with only one carrying an official seal of the Night's Watch. It reported that Stannis had gone south with Robb to take Winterfell from Ramsey Snow. Davos also put credence in the notion that it was in Lord Baelish's nature to create plots solely for his amusement and possible advantage. Ultimately, the gist of the raven was that nothing was certain and that he advised the party from King's Landing to return and for The Hound to return to Riverrun.

Sansa knew all news, valid and erroneous, would be coming into King's Landing and that the fleet would return there as well. She was determined that if she could not go North to look for her husband, she would wait for him the first place he was most likely to return. She refused to accept that he might be dead or allow anyone to speak to her as if he was. In this, she was joined by Shireen, who seemed to go from little girl to young woman in one night. Rather than play with the Seaworth boys and Edric Storm, she assisted with preparations to leave, needing employment every bit as much as Sansa did.

She made her way out to the yards with Marya to discuss Edric Storm with Ser Rolland or rather inform him that they had decided he would come with them to King's Landing rather than return to Dragonstone. Sansa had not considered him and his being alone at Dragonstone without the children he grew up with until she met him. If Ser Andrew Estermont would not take responsibility for him, as he had Prince Tommen when asked to do so, then she would make some other arrangement.

As she informed Ser Rolland of the small change in plans, one he was glad to hear of for it saved diverting some of his men to Dragonstone, Sansa saw Sandor talking to Alys out of the corner of her eye. She tried not to observe too closely or appear too interested. In truth, she was more than a little interested. From what she could see, Sandor was listening intently to what the lady was saying to him; and there was no bark or growl in reply before he strode away toward the training yard.

They were provisioned and prepared to leave in three days' time, due largely to the motivation of Sansa and Marya to get back to King's Landing. Sansa put Steffon in Marya's arms and all waited while she and Sandor walked out of hearing distance from most of the retinue heading for King's Landing.

"Once again, I owe you my life," she began, looking up at him with clear eyes, but strained emotions. "The last time we parted, I was not certain I would ever see you again. I am not any more certain of it now, but I truly hope so."

Despite a face that could not help but look fierce at the best of times, Sandor tried to smile. It more resembled a leer and she wasn't entirely certain it wasn't one. "I may come back south again before too long, Little Bird. I was advised that I should consider taking a wife. Said even if she isn't the woman I want, she would be better than not having one at all."

Sansa did not have to ask who provided this advice and it made her equal parts sad and jealous. The mature woman she wanted to be decided to answer him rather than the self-regarding girl she felt surfacing. "Should you take a wife, I hope you will one day be most glad of her."

"But leave a little space for you?" he rasped in reply, raising a knowing brow.

She answered him with a smile and then raised her arms to his shoulders and put enough pressure to let him know she was asking him to lean down toward her. Everyone present knew there was something between them, even if not exactly sure what it was. Sansa would not deny treating him as she would her brothers or even Davos Seaworth at an emotional parting. She kissed his burn-scarred cheek first and then his stubbled one before letting go. "Please send a raven of your safe return if you can."

"If you or yours send for me, Little Bird, I'll be there. Believe that."

With that, she joined Mary, Shireen, and Steffon in the carriage and gave a sign to Ser Rolland that she was ready to depart. No one mentioned The Hound to her and she did not look out of the carriage to watch him mount Stranger and head northwest.

The trip took a little over a sennight and all were glad the trip was over. Davos was there to meet them as they entered Maegor's Holdfast from the dry moat. Sansa insisted Marya exit first to greet her husband. Her heart ached as she watched Marya hold her husband close. Sansa had prayed she would find Stannis there upon their return although she knew it would have been impossible for him return so soon, even if all were well.

After disengaging from her husband's embrace, Marya reached in to take Steffon and Davos extended a hand to his queen to help her from the carriage and then did the same for Shireen, "We do not know any more than we did, or at least nothing we can firmly credit, Your Grace," he informed her after the perfunctory bow. "The most reliable word we've had is that the King reached some sort of accommodation with the wildings in a treat that involved The Gift and then turned toward Winterfell."

"While he would not admit that was his intent before he left, I suspected he would do so if at all possible," Sansa affirmed, attempting to display a calm she did not actually feel. She was tired and anxious, and while she knew he would put duty before anything else, she did not relish admitting he would take on another siege rather than make haste back to his family. Stannis would never understand why she would not want him to risk his life to return Winterfell back to her family. How could he? Before going through the shock of hearing he was dead, she herself would have claimed it was noble endeavor.

After a bath and a meal, Sansa rocked Steffon to sleep in the nursery and then joined Shireen in her bedchamber. She was weary and ached from the journey, but found herself doing all she could to avoid the bedchamber – to avoid laying her head down on a cold, smooth pillow instead of her husband's hair-roughened chest. When Shireen finally fell asleep, Sansa could avoid it no longer and retired. Elise was waiting for her, excited to have her mistress back. Her chatter was diverting for a while, but eventually the handmaid left to sleep in the outer room. The bedclothes were pulled back and a fire roared in the fireplace. Sansa could not bring herself to lie down. Instead, she curled up on the chair next to the bed and stared into the flames until sleep overtook her.

The next four moons saw more confusion and chaos. Sansa was invited to join the Small Council, where she frequently exchanged barbed words with Ser Axell when he suggested they accept that Stannis was dead and name Steffon as king. Fears of another war and the rumors of Daenerys Targaryen having dragons caused panic that was increasingly difficult to squelch. Davos would soothe tensions by reminding them there was little to be gained by trying to put the heir on the Iron Throne. Ser Axell stopped his protestations when Ser Lomas let him know that, under no circumstances, would any regent other than the Queen be named if a crown were put on the babe's head.

One thing was evident to her. The lack of ravens flying in from most parts of the North said that winter was already as far south as Winterfell and would be upon them soon. To occupy her time, Sansa encouraged the building of glass gardens and assisted Maester Pylos in drawing up plans for both planting and rationing.

Hope came in the form of a raven that got through from House Flint at Widow's Watch. It reported that a fleet headed south had been spotted from their ramparts. Davos sent out ravens to all houses loyal to the King that were in a position to spot the fleet. Word from the Vale of Arryn was sketchy, but the next reliable report came from Dragonstone that the fleet had turned and was headed into Blackwater Bay. Shireen was the one to vocalize the question Davos and Sansa both could not. Why wouldn't they have stopped at Dragonstone to send word to allow preparation for the arrival of their king?

It was nighttime when Ser Aedan knocked on her door and sent a groggy Elise in to tell her the fleet should be in shortly after daybreak. For the first time ever, she snapped at Elise for not dressing her fast enough, although she promptly apologized. Neither she nor Shireen felt like wasting time in breaking their fast before journeying to the docks. Davos, Ser Rolland, and Ser Justin, along with others were waiting to escort them. Marya was among them, offering to stay behind with Steffon, but Sansa said that Stannis would want to see his son. She ignored the looks those present gave each other as she, once again, insisted their king was alive and coming back to them.

As dawn broke, Sansa stood on the docks of Blackwater Bay holding her son, who was well over half a year older than the last time she stood here. As then, Shireen stood by her side, her dark hair worn loose about her shoulders as neither one wanted to spare the time for their handmaids to arrange their hair. The fog was thick that morning, making it difficult to see into the bay. For a time, both sat on folding chairs Davos insisted be brought along for them. Steffon was heavier now and squirmed around in her arms. She sang softly to him, realizing she was attempting to calm her own nerves as much as quiet her son. The same must have been true for Shireen, for she joined in singing The Mother's Hymn.

The fog began to roll back, revealing more and more of the horizon. Sansa had no idea how long they were there before they saw the first bow break through into visibility. It was still too far away to make out the men on the ship. It seemed like an eternity before she could make out men on decks of the returning fleet. At first, they were only visible as blurs of motion opposed to the steady up and down motion of each bow as they headed toward the docks. Sansa and Shireen stood, walking as close to the edge of the dock as they dared as the lead ship, The Fury, drew closer. Holding Steffon with one arm securely wrapped around his legs, Sansa took Shireen's hand and held it tightly as it became possible to make out those standing on deck.

There standing alone at the bow of The Fury, scowl accented with a beard, eyes narrowed from the sun, and the hair along the lower half of his head longer and roughly shorn, stood Stannis Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, father of Shireen and Steffon, and husband of Sansa Baratheon.


End file.
